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capSBiGta DEPosm 



Arthur W. Pinero 



Mid Channel 




A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 



Walter H. Baker 6 Co.. Boston 






THF AMA/ONS Fare© i^^ Three Acts. Seven males, five females. 
Alil4 iiil Al< i»? Costumes, modern ; scenery, not difficult. Plays 
a full evening. 

THE CABINET MINISTER Z^^Z^.,Z:::^^ 

scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

DANTIY DICir F»''<5® ^^ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. 
Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays 
two hours and a half. 

THP liAV I ADD nilPY Comedy in Four Acts. Four males, ten 
illC UAl tUfiU yUCA females Costumes, modern ; scenery, 
two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. 

HIS HOUSE IN ORDER '^ZT!oZtt,^^:nT^X 

three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

THF HORRY HORSF C<^™®<ly ^^ Three Acts. Ten males, five 
mil UVDUl UVnOLi fgj^^^igg costumes, modem; scenery easy. 

Plays two hours and a half. 

■mc Drama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, 
modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. 

T AHY ROIINTIFIIF ^^^^ ^° ^^^^ '^^^^' ^^^^^ males, seven fe- 
LiAVl DVVlMirVLi j^g^^^g Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- 
teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. 

I PTTpY Drama in Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five fe- 
**^*-^ males. Costumes, modern ; scenery complicated- Plaj^sa 
full evening. 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Walttt 1$. TSaUv & Compani? 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



it A3 



MID-CHANNEL 

/ »9 



Mid-Channel 



A Play in Four Acts 



By 
ARTHUR WING PINERO 



All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act. 
Perfortriance forbidden and right of representation reserved. 
Application for the right to produce this play may be made 
in care of the publishers. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
1910 



Mid-Channel 




COPYRIGHT, 1 910, BY 

ARTHUR WING PI NERO 

As Author and Proprietor 

All rights reserved 



PLEASE READ CAREFULLY 

The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. 

Performance is strictly forbidden unless his express consent 

has first been obtained, and attention is called to the penalties 

provided by law for any infringements of his rights, as follows : — 

"Sbc. 4966:— Any person publicly performing or representing any 
dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, 
without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred 
dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- 
resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty 
of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not 
exceeding one year."— U. S. Revised Statutes, Title bo. Chap. 3. 



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Mid-Channel 



p ^ THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Theodore Blundell. 

The Honble. Peter Mottram. 

Leonard Ferris. 

Warren, servajit at Lancaster Gate. 

Cole, servant at the Jiat in Cavendish Square. 

RiDEOUT, Mr. Ferris s servant. 

Upholsterers. 

ZoE Blundell. 
Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel Pierpoint. 
Mrs. Annerly. 
Lena. 

The scene is laid in London. The events of the First 
Act take place on an afternoon in January. The rest of 
the action occurs on a day in the following June. 



Mid-Channel 



THE FIRST ACT 

The scene is a drawing-room, decorated and furnished in 
the French style. In the wall opposite the spectator there 
is a door, the upper part of which is glazed. A silk 
curtain hangs across the glazed panels, but above the 
curtain there is a view of the corridor beyond. The 
fireplace, where a bright fire is burning, is in the wall 
on the right. There is a door on the further side of the 
fireplace, another on the nearer side. Both these doors 
are supposed to lead to a second drawing-room. 

On either side of the fireplace there is an armchair, and on 
the further side, standing out in the room, is a settee. 
Some illustrated papers of the popular sort are lying upon 
the armchair next to the settee. Behind the settee are 
an oblong table and a chair. In the middle of the room, 
on the left of the settee and facing the fire, is another 
armchair ; and on the left of the armchair on the nearer 
side of the fireplace there is afauteuil-stool. A writing- 
table, with a chair before it, stands on the left hand side 
of the room, and among the objects on the writing-table 
are a hand-mirror and some photographs in frames. 
Other pieces of furniture, of a more formal kind than 
those already specified, fill spaces against the walls. One 
of these, on the left of the glazed door, is a second 
settee. 

1 



2 MID-CHANNEL 

The room is lighted only by the blaze of the fire, and the 

corridor also is in semi-darkness. 
\Note : Throughout y '* right'' and ** left'' are the spec- 
tators' right and left, not the actor's.'] 

[ The corridor is suddenly lighted up. Then War- 
ren enters at the glazed door and switches on 
the light in the room. He is followed by Mrs. 
PlERPOiNT, a pleasant-looking, middle-aged 
lady, and by Ethel, a pretty girl offive-and- 
iwenty.] 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

[ To the servant.] You are sure Mrs. Blundell will be 
in soon ? 

Warren. 
She said half-past four, ma'am. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
It's that now, isn't it? 

Warren. 
Just upon, ma'am. 

[Warren withdraws, closing the door, 

Ethel. 
What beautiful rooms these are ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Money ! 

Ethel. 
I always feel I'm in Paris when I'm here, in some smart 
house in the Champs-Elysees — not at Lancaster Gate. 
What is Mr. Blundell, mother ? 



MID-CHANNEL 3 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
A stockbroker. 

Ethel. 
Stockbroker ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Blundell— something-or-other— and Mottram. He goes 
to the City every morning. 

Ethel. 
I know that. But I've never heard him, or Zoe, men- 
tion the Stock Exchange. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[Sitting on the settee by the fireplace.'] Prosperous stock- 
brokers and their wives— those who move in a decent set 
—dont mention the Stock Exchange. 

Ethel. 
Then that nice person, Mr. Mottram, is a stockbroker 
too? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Of course, dear. He's the " Mottram *' of the firm. 

Ethel. 
And hes the son of a peer. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Peers' sons are common enough in the City nowadays 
— and peers, for that matter. 

Ethel. 
[Moving to the fireplace and warming her hands.] Zoe 
is a doctor's daughter. 



4 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Has she given you leave to call her Zoe ? 

Ethel. 
Yes, last week — asked me to. I'm so glad ; I've taken 
such a liking to her. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
She was a Miss Tucker. Her father practiced in New 
Cavendish Street. He was a great gout man. 

Ethel. 
You are full of information, mother. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Emma Lawton was giving me the whole history of the 
Blundells at lunch to-day. She has money, of her own. 

Ethel. 
Zoe? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Dr. Tucker left sixty or seventy thousand pounds, and 
she came in for it all. But they'd got on before then. 

Ethel. 
H'm! There are stockbrokers and stockbrokers, I 
suppose. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Straight and crooked, as in every other business or 
profession. 

Ethel. 
I do think, though, that a girl in Zoe' s position might 
have chosen somebody slightly more refined than Mr. 
Blundell. 



BUD-CHANNEL 5 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
What's wrong with him ? He's extremely amiable and 
inoffensive. 

Ethel. 
Amiable ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
He strikes me as being so. 

Ethel. 
I don't call it particularly amiable or inoffensive in a 
husband to be as snappy with his wife as he is with Zoe. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Snappy ? 

Ethel. 
Irritable — impatient. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Oh, I dare say there's an excellent understanding be- 
tween them. They've been married a good many years. 

Ethel. 
Thirteen, she's told me. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Married people are allowed to be out of humor with 
each other occasionally. 

Ethel. 

A considerable allowance must be made for Mr. Blun- 
dell, I'm afraid. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
You're prejudiced, Ethel. I've seen her just as snappy, 
as you term it, with him. 



6 MID-CHANNEL 

Ethel. 
You can't blame her, if she's provoked. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Nor him, if he's provoked. The argument cuts both 
ways 

Ethel. 
[Listening.~\ Sssh ! 

[ZoE, a charming, animated, bright-eyed woman, 
wearing her hat and some costly furs, enters 
quickly at the glazed door. 

ZOE. 

Dehghtful ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\Rising^ Your servant insisted on our coming up. 

ZOE. 

[Shaking hands with Mrs. Pierpoint.] If he hadn't, 
I'd have wrung his neck. [Kissing Ethel.] How are 
you, dear? [Stripping off her gloves.'] The weather ! 
Isn't it filthy! Do you remember what the sun's like? 
I had the blinds drawn all over the house at eleven 
o'clock this morning. What's the good of trying to 
make believe it's day? [Taking off her coat.] Do sit 
down. Ugh ! Why is it that more people commit sui- 
cide in summer than in winter ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[Resuming her seat on the settee by the fire.] Do they ? 

Ethel. 
[Sitting upon the fauteuil-stooL] Why, yes, mother; 
what-do-you-call-them ? — statistics — prove it. 



MID-CHANNEL 7 

ZOE. 
[ Throwing her coat and gloves upon the settee at the back 
and unpinning her hatJ] You'll see, when I put an end 
to myself, it will be in the winter time. 



My dear ! 
Zoe! 



Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel. 



Mrs. Pierpoint. 
If you are in this frame of mind, why don't you pack 
your trunks and fly ? 

Zoe. 
Fly? 

Ethel. 
Mother means cut it. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel ! 

Zoe. 
[Tossing her hat on to the settee and taking up the hand- 
mirror from the writing-table and adjusting her hair.'\ 
Don't scold her ; she picks up her slang from me. 

Ethel. 
Evil communications ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
1 mean, go abroad for a couple of months — Egypt 

Ethel. 
Mother, how horrid of you ! I should miss her ter- 
ribly. 



8 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Cairo — Assouan 

ZOE. 

[Looking into the hand-glass steadily. '\ That's funny. 
I have been thinking lately of " cutting it." 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

But I suppose it would have to be without your busy 
husband. 

ZOE. 

{Replacing the mirrorJ] Yes, it would be without Theo. 
{I'urning to Mrs. Pierpoint and Ethel and rattling on 
again.'] Well! How have you been amusing yourselves? 
You wretches, you haven't been near me since Monday, 
either of you. Done anything — seen anything ? 

Ethel. 
Nothing. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[To ZoE.] li youre under the weather, there's some 
excuse for me. 

ZOE. 

[ Walking about restlessly. ] Oh, but I will keep moving, 
though the heavens fall. I've been to the theatre every 
night this week, and supped out afterward. They've 
opened such a ripping restaurant in Jermyn Street. 
[Pausing.'] You haven't seen the new play at the St. 
Martin's, then? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
No. 

Ethel. 
I want to, badly. 



MID-CHANNEL 9 

ZOE. 

I'll take you. We'll make up a party. [Scribbling a 
mejnorandum at the writing-table. '\ I'll tell Lenny Ferris 
to get seats. 

Ethel. 
Good business ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel ! 

ZOE. 

It's all about children— kiddies. There are the sweet- 
est little tots in it. Two especially— a tiny, round-eyed 
boy and a mite of a girl with straw-colored hair — you feel 
you must clamber on to the stage and hug them. You 
feel you must ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

Aren't there any grown-ups? 

ZOE. 

{Dropping into the armchair facing the fire."] Oh, yes ; 
they bore me. 

Ethel. 
I was reading the story to you, mother 

ZOE. 

The story's no account — it's the kiddies. The man 
who wrote the thing must be awfully fond of children. I 
wonder whether he has any little 'uns. If he hasn't, it's 
of no consequence to him ; he can imagine them. What 
a jolly gift ! Fancy ! To have the power of imagining 
children— bringing them to life ! Just by shutting the 
door, and sitting down at your writing-table, and saying 

to your brain, " Now, then ! I'm ready for them ! " 

[Breaking of .'] Ring the bell, Ethel. [Ethel rises, and, 
going to the fireplace, rings the bell.'] Let's have tea. 



10 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I'm afraid we can't stay for tea. I've promised to be 
at old Miss Fremantle's at five o'clock. Ethel 

Ethel. 
Yes» mother? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Go down-stairs for a few minutes. I want a little pri- 
vate conversation with Mrs. Blundell. 

Ethel. 
[Surprised.'] Private conversation ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
If she won't think me too troublesome. 

ZOE. 

[Rising and opening the nearer door on the right — to 
Ethel.] Come in here. There's a lovely fire. [Disap- 
pearing.] I'll switch the light on. 

Ethel. 
[Following ZoE — at the door.] What is it about, mother ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint, 
[Rising.] Now, don't be inquisitive, Ethel. 

ZOE. 

[From the adjoining room.] Come along ! 

[Ethel goes into the next room. Warren enters 

at the glazed door. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[To Warren.] Mrs. Blundell rang for tea. 



MID-CHANNEL U 

Warren. 
Very good, ma'am. 

[Warren withdraws as ZoE returns, 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
We sha'n't be heard ? 

ZOE. 

[Closing the door.'] No. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
It's really most improper of me to bother you in this 
way. 

ZOE. 

[Advancing to Mrs. Pierpoint.] Can I be of any use 

to you .'' 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Well, yes, you can. You can give me — what shall I 
call it ? — a hint 

ZOE. 

[Sitting on the fauteuil-stooL'\ A hint ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
On a subject that concerns Ethel. [Sitting in the chair 
facing the fire.] We're quite new friends of yours, dear 
Mrs. Blundell — is it six weeks since we dined at the 
Darrells' ? 

ZOE. 

There or thereabouts. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
A fortnight or so before Christmas, wasn't it ? But my 
girl has formed a great attachment to you, and I fancy 
you are inchned to be interested in her. 



12 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Rather ! She and I are going to be tremendous pals. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
That's splendid. Now, don't laugh at me for my ex- 
treme cautiousness, if you can help it. 

ZOE. 

Cautiousness ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Tell me — as one woman to another — do you consider 
it advisable for Ethel to see much of Mr. Ferris ? 

ZOE. 

Advisable ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Oh, I've no doubt he's a highly respectable young 
man, as young men go — I'm not implying anything to 
the contrary 

ZOE. 

Is she seeing much of Mr. Ferris? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
She meets him here. 

ZOE. 

Ah, yes. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

And he has suddenly taken to dropping in to tea with 
us pretty regularly ; and twice this week — twice — he has 
sent her some magnificent flowers — magnificent. 

ZOE. 

Dear old Lenny ! 



MID-CHANNEL 13 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
There's something in his manner, too — one can't de- 
scribe it 

ZOE. 

\A little ruefully.'] Ha! Ha, ha, ha! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I am amusing you. 

ZOE. 

No, no. I beg your pardon. [^Rising and going to the 
fire.'] Somehow I've never pictured Lenny with a wife. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
It may be only an excess of politeness on his part ; 
there mayn't be the least foundation for my suspicions. 

ZOE. 

I suppose every married woman believes that her 
bachelor chums will remain bachelors. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
And pray, dear Mrs. Blundell, don't take me for a 
match-making mother. I've no desire to lose my girl yet 
awhile, I assure you. But I want to know, naturally — 
it's my duty to know — exactly who and what are the men 
who come into my drawing-room. 

ZOE. 

Why, naturally. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
And it occurred to me that, as we made Mr. Ferris' s 
acquaintance in your house, you wouldn't object to giv- 
ing me, as I put it, the merest hint 



14 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Ethel — what about her ? Does she like him ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
It's evident she doesn't dislike him. But she's not a 
girl who would be in a hurry to confide in anybody over 
a love affair, not even in her mother. True, there may 
be nothing to confide, in the present case. I repeat, I 
may be altogether mistaken. At the same time 

ZOE. 

You wish me to advise you as to whether Lenny Ferris 
should be encouraged. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Whether he should be cold-shouldered — I prefer that 
expression. 

Zoe. 
Very well ; I'll furnish you with his character, dear 
Mrs. Pierpoint, with pleasure. 

[Leonard Ferris, a fresh, boyish young man, 
enters at the glazed door, with the air of one 
who is at home. 

Leonard. 
Hallo ! 

Zoe. 
[yust as carelessly.'] Hallo, Len ! 

Leonard. 
^Shaking hands with Mrs. Pierpoint.] How d'ye 
? How's Miss Ethel? 



do 



Mrs. Pierpoint.. 
{^Inclining her head.] Thank you 



MID-CHANNEL 16 

Leonard. 
[Rubbing his hands together.'] Here's a day I 

ZOE. 

[Taking his hand.] Your hands are frozen. 

Leonard. 
[Going to the fire.'] I drove my car up here. 

ZOE. 

You're crazy. [Sitting on the settee by the fire. \ Yot 
never rang me up this morning, to ask if I was tired. 

Leonard. 
Wire was engaged. First-rate night, last night. 

ZOE. 

[Languidly.'] The siimmit. Lenny 

Leonard. 
Eh? 

ZOE. 

Mrs. Pierpoint and I are talking secrets. Go into the 
next room for a second. 

Leonard. 
[Genially.] Sha'n't, if there isn't a fire. 

ZOE. 

Of course there's a fire. Things ain't so bad in the 
City as all that. 

Leonard. 
[At the nearer door on the right.] Any tea ? 

ZOE. 

By and by. You'll find somebody in there you know. 



16 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
[Going into the room.'\ Who ? 

ZOE. 

{Calling out.'] Shut the door. [TAe door is closed.] 
Talk of the ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Bless me, I hope not ! 

ZOE. 

No, I shouldn't turn him in there at this moment it 
he wasn't what he is — the dearest boy in the world — 
should I ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Boy ? 

ZOE. 

He's thirty-two. A man of two-and-thirty is a boy to a 
woman of— to an old married woman. He's the simplest, 
wholesomest, besl-natured fellow living. If you had him 
for a son-in-law, you'd be lucky. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
It's a relief to me, at any rate 

ZOE. 

And I should lose one of my tame robins. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Tame robins ? 

ZOE. 

[/Rising and going over to the writing-table and taking up 
two of the photographs^ I always have his photo on my 
table— his and Peter Mottram's. Peter Mottram is my 



MID-CHANNEL 17 

husband's partner— you've met him here. I call them my 
tame robins. They come and eat crumbs off my window- 
sill. I've no end of tame robins — men chums but these 

two are my specials. IRcpiacing the photographs,'] Well! 
If Lenny ever goes, 1 shall have to promote Harry Es- 
tridge or Jim Mallandain or Cossy Rawhngs. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[ Who has risen and followed Zoe to the writing-table. '\ 
But why should Mr. Ferris ever "go " completely.? 

Zoe. 
{Smiling.] Oh, when a robin marries, Jenny doesn't 
share him with another wren. Not much ! 

[Warren enters at the glazed door with a female 
servant. They carry in the tea and lay it upon 
the table behind the settee by the fire. 

Zoe. 
^ \After glancing at the servants— dropping her voice."] 
I'd" better finish drawing up the prospectus, while I'm 
at it. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Prospectus ? 

Zoe. 
He's got two thousand a year. Both his people are 
dead. There's ati aunt in the country who may leave 
him a bit extra ; but she's a cantankerous old cat and, in 
my opinion, charity '11 have every sou. Still, two thou- 
sand a year 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I oughtn't to hear any more. But you understand, 
don't you ? 



IS MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Perfectly. And he lives in a comfy little flat behind 
the Albert Hall and is mad on motor-cars. He's invented 
a wonderful wheel which is to give the knock to pneu- 
matics. If anything will bring him to ruin, that will. 
[ Walking away toward the tea-table laughingly .^^ There ! 

Warren. 
Tea is served, ma'am. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

\To ZoE, who returns to her.'\ I'm exceedingly obliged 
to you. You won't breathe a word to Ethel? 

ZOE. 

Not a syllable. It would break my heart, but I hope 
it'll come off, for her sake. 

Mrs. Pierpoint, 
She's a sweet, sensible child. 

ZOE. 

And as for him, I'll tell you this for your comfort— -I'm 
honestly certain that Lenny Ferris would be the sort of 
husband that lasts. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
That lasts ? What do you mean ? 

ZOE. 

Oh — never mind. \^Gaily.'\ Tea! \77te servants have 
withdrawn. She runs across to the further door on the 
right, opens it, and calls.'] Tea ! [Seating herself at the 
iea-table.'] Are you firm about going on ? 



MID-CHANNEL 19 

Mrs. PiERPoiNT. 
It's Lizzie Fremantle's birthday. She's Ethel's god- 
mother. [2o Ethel, who enters with Leonard.] Are 
you ready, Ethel ? 

Ethel. 
[To Mrs. Pierpoint.] Must we ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Now, my dear ! 

ZOE. 

[To Leonard.] Lenny, you've got to get tickets for 
the St. Martin's and take the whole crowd of us. 

Leonard. 
[ With a wryface.l That kids' play again ! 

ZOE. 

Very well ; Peter will do it. 

Leonard. 
No, no ; right you are. 

ZOE. 

I stand. 

Leonard. 
Rot! 

ZOE. 

Then Peter has the job. [To the ladies :\ We'll ask 
Peter Mottram to be one of us anyhow. 

Leonard. 
The supper's mine, then. 



20 MID-CHANNEL 

ZoE. 
Anything for peace. \_Shaking hands with Mrs. Pier- 
point, who comes to her.^ Monday night.? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
You're a great deal too good. 

[Leonard has opened the glazed door and is now 
in the corridor. Mrs. Pierpoint ^/bzwj him. 

Leonard. 
\To Mrs. Pierpoint, as they disappear.'] Got a vehicle ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
My venerable four-wheeler — the oldest friend I have in 
London 

Ethel. 
[ To ZoE, who rises."] What did mother have to say to 
you so mysteriously ? 

ZOE. 

Er — she wants me to consult Theo about something. 

Ethel. 
Her railway shares? 

ZOE. 

[^Nodding.] H'm. 

Ethel. 
[Satisfied.'] Oh? Good-bye. 

ZOE. 

When are we to have a nice long jaw together— just 
you and I ? 

Ethel. 
Mother won't let me out alone in these fogs. 



MID-CHANNEL 21 

ZOE. 

Fog or no fog, try and shunt her to-morrow. 

Ethel. 
I'll do my best. 

ZOE. 

I'll be in all the morning. \_They turn their heads toward 
the door, lisieniftg.'] Lenny's whistUng for you. 

Ethel. 

Mother ! 

[ Ihey kiss affectionately and Ethel hurries away. 
Zoe resumes her seat at the tea-table and pours 
out tea. Presently Leonard returns and, after 
closing the door, comes to her. 

Leonard. 
l^Cheerfully.'] It's beginning to sleet now. 'Pon my 

soul ! \_She hands him a cup of tea in silence. He 

looks at her inquiringly^^ Anything wrong, Zoe ? 

Zoe. 
{With an air of indifference r\ No. 

Leonard. 
Positive ? 

Zoe. 
{In the same tone, offering him a plate of bread and but- 
ier.'\ Quite. 

Leonard. 
{Taking a slice.'] Thought there' d been another row, 
perhaps. 

Zoe. 
{Putting the plate of bread and butter aside and taking 
up her cup and saucer^ Hell of a row last night. 



22 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
Last night ? 

ZOE. 

This morning, rather. 

Leonard. 
When you came home ? 

ZOE. 

[Sipping her tea.'] After you and Peter brought me 
home. 

Leonard. 
What over? 

ZOE. 

Nothing. 

Leonard. 
[Drinking.] Must have been over something. 

ZOE. 

Oh, some trifle — as usual. 

Leonard. 
Too bad of Theo— damned sight too bad. 

ZOE. 

I dare say it was as much my fault as his. 

Leonard. 
[Hotly.] It's a cursed shame ! 

Zoe. 
Drop it, Len. [Handing him a dish of cakes.] Cake ? 



MID-CHANNEL 23 

Leonard. 
\Puiting his etnpty cup down before her and taking a 
cake.~\ Tea. 

ZOE. 

^Pouring out another cup of tea for him. '\ First time 
you've drunk tea with me this week. Honored ! 

Leonard. 
Sorry. 

ZOE. 

M'yes — \_giving him his tea'] sorry that Mrs. Pierpoint 
and Ethel can't receive you this afternoon. 

Leonard. 
\After a pause , uncomfortably.'] Mrs. Pierpoint been tell- 
ing you anything about me? 

ZOE. 

Mentioned that you frequently turn up in Sloane Street 
at tea time. 

Leonard. 

There's a man down that way who's frightfully gone 
on my wheel. 

ZOE. 

{^Drinking.] Indeed? 

Leonard. 
My great difficulty, you know, is to get it on to the 
market. 

Zoe. 
India-rubber people opposing you, I expect. 



24 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
Tooth and nail. 

ZOE. 

\Nibbling a cake.'\ And the man who lives Sloane 
Street way ? 

Leonard. 
Very influential chap. 

ZOE. 

Capitalist ? 

Leonard. 
Millionaire. 

ZOE. 

H'm ! And when you're down Sloane Street way, do 
you take your flowers to Miss Pierpoint, or does your flo- 
rist send them ? 

{Again there is silence. He lays his cup down, 
leaves her side, and produces his cigareite-case. 
Sticking a cigarette between his lips, he is about 
to close the case when she rises and takes a cig- 
arette f 7 om it. She moves to the fireplace, light- 
ing her cigarette with a match from a box at- 
tached to a gold chatelaine hanging from her 
waist. He seats hitnself in the chair facing the 
fire and lights his own cigarette. 

Leonard. 
[Moodily.'] I don't want to marry, Zoe. 

ZOE. 

There's no reason why you shouldn't, if you feel dis- 
posed to ; but you needn't be a sneak about it. 



MID-CHANNEL 25 



Leonard. 



The aunt's pitching into me again like billy-oh. High 
time I settled down — high time I became a reputable 
member of society ! I ask you, what the deuce have I 
ever done that's particularly disreputable? Then come 
two verses of Scripture 

ZOE. 

[Advancing to him.'] She hasn't ordered you to be un- 
derhanded with your best friends, I assume? 

Leonard. 
I'm not underhanded. 

ZOE. 

Why this concealment, then ? 

Leonard. 

There's no concealment ; there's nothing to conceal; 
I give you my word there isn't. I — I haven't made up 
my mind one way or the other. 

ZOE. 

\_WitheringIy.'] You're weighing the question! 

Leonard. 

Very well ; I'm weighing it, if you like. [Flinging the 
end of his match into the fireplace and jumping up.] Con- 
found it all ! Mayn't a man send a basket or two of rot- 
ten flowers to a girl without having his special license 
bought for him by meddling people ? 

ZOE. 

Thank you. 



26 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 

I don't mean you, Zoe. You know I don't mean you. 
{Pacing the room.'\ Ethel — Miss Pierpoint — is a charming 
girl, but I'm no more in love with her than I am with my 
old hat. 

Zoe. 
Then you oughtn't to pay her marked attention. 

Leonard. 
I'm not paying her marked attention. \ZoK shrugs her 
shoulders.'] If Mrs. Pierpoint says I've been making love 
to her daughter 

Zoe. 
She has said nothing of the kind. 

Leonard. 
[Sitting in the chair before the writing-table, in a huff.] 
That's all right. Pity she can't hold her tongue over 
trifles. 

[There is another pause. Then, partly kneeling 
upon the chair iti the middle of the room, and 
resting her elbow on the back of it, Zoe softens. 

Zoe. 
[Making rings with her cigarette smoke.] Don't be 
wild, Len. I was only vexed with you for not consulting 
me. It would hurt my feelings dreadfully if you got en- 
gaged to anybody on the sly. Len [He turns to 

her, but with his head down.] She is a charming girl. 
I'm not surprised at your being spoons on her. If I were 
a man, she's just the sort of girl /'^ marry, if I were on 
the lookout for a wife. 



MID-CHANNEL 27 

Leonard. 
[In a low voice.'\ Perhaps I have made myself a bit of 
an ass over her, Zoe. {She laughs lightly. He raises his 
eyes."] Zoe 

Zoe. 
Well? 

Leonard. 
[Gazing at Zoe.] Do you know that she reminds me 
very often of you? 

Zoe. 
She ! I'm old enough to be her grandmother. 

Leonard. 
Oh, hang that ! She's got hold of a lot of your odd lit- 
tle tricks — a lot of 'em. 

Zoe. 
She's been with me a goodish deal lately. 

Leonard. 
That's it; and she has the most enormous admiration 
for you — enormous. 

Zoe. 
She's a dear. 

Leonard. 
[Gently hitting his knee with his fist."] I've thought of 
all that when I've been worrying it out in my mind. 

Zoe. 
Thought of all what ? 

Leonard. 
That you'd always be pals, you two — close pals. 



28 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

If she became Mrs. Lenny ? 

Leonard. 
\_Nodding.'] And so, if I did screw myself up to — to 
speaking to her, it wouldn't make the least difference to 
our friendship — yours and mine. 

ZOE. 

No difference ! 

Leonard. 
I should still be your tame robin. 

ZOE. 

Ah, no ; don't make that mistake, Len. 

Leonard. 
Mistake .-* 

Zoe. 
[Shaking her head.'] It never works. I've seen similar 
cases over and over again. There's any amount of gush 
at the start, between the young wife and the husband's 
women-pals ; but the end is always the same. 



Leonard. 



The end? 



Zoe. 
Gradually the wife draws the husband away. She 
manages it somehow. We have a gift for it. I did it 
myself when I married Theo. 

Leonard. 
[Rising and walking about.'] If I believed what you 
say, Zoe, I'd never size up a girl with a view to marrying 
as long as I live. 



MID-CHANNEL 29 

ZOE. 

[Teasingly.~\ You're a vain creature. I've plenty of 
other boys, Len, to fill your place. 

Leonard. 
\^Noi heeding her.'] If things were smoother with you 
and Theo, one mightn't hesitate half as much. 

ZOE. 

There's Peter Mottram, Gus Hedmont, Harry Estridge, 
Claud Lowenstein 

Leonard. 
As it is— Great Scot ! — I'm a brute even to think of 
taking the risk. 

ZOE. 

Cossy Rawlings, Jim Mallandain, Robby Relf 

Leonard. 
[Stopping in his walk.'] Yes, but my friendship's more 
to you than the friendship of most of those other fellows, 
I should hope. 

Zoe. 
[Making a grimace at him.'\ Not a scrap. 

Leonard. 
\His brow darkening.] You told me once I was your 
favorite. 

Zoe. 
My chaff; I've no favorite. 

Leonard. 

[Laying the remains of his cigarette upon a little bronze 
tray on the writing-table.] Peter's a trump, and Harry 



90 MID-CHANNEL 

Estridge and Rawlings are sound enough ; but I often 
feel I'd like to knock young Lowenstein's teeth down his 
fat throat. 

ZOE. 

\_B lowing her smoke in his direction as he comes to her 
and stands before her."] You get married and mind your 
own concerns. 

Leonard. 
Zoe, I hate to see men of that class buzzing round you. 

ZOE. 

[Mockingly.'] Do you ! 

Leonard. 
Look here ! Whatever happens between you and 
Theo in the future, you'll never let anything or anybody 
drive you off the rails, will you ? 

Zoe. 
[Frowning.'] Len ! 

Leonard. 
I couldn't stand it ; [putting his hands upon her shoul- 
ders] I tell you straight, it 'ud break me. [Passionately, 

his grip tightening.] Zoe ! 

[She shakes herself free afid backs away from him, 
confronting him with a flushed face. 

ZoE. 
[Quietly^ Don't be silly. [Brushing her hair from her 
forehead.] If ever you do that again, Len, I'll box your 
ears. 

[The HoNBLE. Peter Mqttram, a spruce, well- 
preserved man of fifty, enters at the glazed door. 



MID-CHANNEL 31 

Peter. 
\_Ckeeriiy.'\ Good-mornin'— or whatever it is. 

ZOE. 

\_Dropping the end of her cigarette into the grate. 'X That 
you, Peter? 

Leonard. 
\Surlily.'\ I'm just off. 

Peter. 
Don't apologize. 

Leonard. 
\At the glazed door, to Peter.] See you later. 

\He goes out. 

Peter. 
[To Zoe.] What's the matter with the youth .? 

ZOE. 

[ With a shrug.'] Got the hump over something. [Fac- 
ing him.'] Tea ? 

Peter. 
No, thanks. [Sitting in the chair in the middle of the 
room.] And how are you to-day, my dear lady ? [She 
makes a wry inouth, sighs, and throws herself disconsolately 
upon the settee by the fire. He nods intelligently.] Yes, 
sorry to hear you and old Theo have had another bad 
fall-out. 

Zoe. 

[Arranging a pillow for ker head.] I guessed he'd 
carry it all to you. 

Peter. 
Shockin'ly grieved, I am. 



32 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Hg began this one. 

Peter. 
By blowin' you up forgoin' on the frisk every night. 

ZOE. 

And I answered him back. I was dogweary. It was 
nearly one o'clock. He needn't have jumped upon me 
almost before I'd taken the key out of the lock. 

Peter. 
IDemure/y.^ I also have been reproved, for aidin' and 
abettin'. 

ZOE. 

Serves you jolly well right. Why didn't you and 
Lenny come in with me, you cowards ? That might have 
saved a squabble. I begged you to have a whiskey. 

Peter. 
[After a brief pause.'] Zoe 

ZOE, 

[/« a muffled voice y her head in the pillow. ] Oh, be 
kind to me, Peter. 

Peter. 
Why do you sally forth night after night? 

Zoe. 
Because I must. 

Peter. 
Must? 

Zoe. 
I've got the fidgets. 



MID-CHANNEL 33 

Peter. 
I get the fidgets at times, in bed. D'ye know how I 



cure em 



Of course I don't. 



ZOE. 



Peter. 
I lie perfectly stiff and still ; I make myself lie perfectly 
still. I won't s\\Y. I say to myself, " Peter, you sha'n'l 
twist or turn." And 1 win. 

ZOE. 

How easy it is to talk ! I defy you to control yourself 
if you're shut up with a person who goads you to des- 
peration. 

Peter. 
Theo? 

ZOE. 

[^Beating her pillow .'\ How can I stay at home and eat 
a long dinner, and spend an entire evening, alone with 
Theo? We're not entertaining just now ; he says he's 
fed up with having people here. 

Peter. 
Take him out with you. 

Zoe. 
Then we quarrel before others. That's too degrading. 
Oh, it's tiff, tiff, wrangle, jangle, outdoors and indoors 
with us ! 

Peter. 
You say things to Theo when you're angry, Zoe, that 
wound him to the quick. 



34 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

ISatiricaliy.'^ Really! 

Peter. 

Really. You mayn't be aware of it ; you scratch the 
poor old chap till he bleeds. 

ZOE. 

Do you imagine he never says things to me that wound 
me to the quick ? 

Peter. 
He doesn't mean half of 'em. 

ZOE. 

Neither do I. 

Peter. 
{^Rising and going to ike fire.'] No; there's the crass 
foolishness of it all. [/« a tone of expostulation.'] My dear 
lady 

Zoe. 
[Suddenly sitting upright.] We're on each other's 
nerves, Peter. That's the plain truth, we're on each 
other's nerves. 

Peter. 
Worryin' each other. 

Zoe. 
Sick to death of each other ! We shall have been 
married fourteen years on the thirtieth of next June. Isn't 
it appalling! He's getting so stodgy and pompous and 
flat-footed. He drives me mad with his elderly ways. 



MID-CHANNEL 36 

Peter. 
{Soothingly.'] Oh ! 

ZOE. 

He's sick and tired of me, at any rate. My little jokes 
and pranks, that used to amuse him so — they annoy him 
now, scandalize liim. He's continually finding fault with 
me — bullying me. That's all the notice he takes of me. 
As for my gowns or my hats — anything I put on — I might 
dress in sackcloth; he'd never observe it. \_Tear/uny.'\ 

Ah- ! [She searches for her handkerchief and fails to 

find it. Peter produces a folded handkerchief from his 
breast-pocket, shakes it out, and gives it to her. She wipes 
her eyes as she proceeds.'] Sometimes, I own, I'm aggra- 
vating ; but he forgets how useful I was to him in the old 
days, when we were climbing. Yes, those were the days 
— the first six or seven years of our marriage, when we 
were up north, in Fitzjohn's Avenue ! [ 7^5 j/«^ Peter's 
handkerchief to him and getting to her feet.] Oh! Oh, we 
were happy then, Peter! You didn't know us then, when 
we were up north ! 

Peter. 

{Wagging his head.] My dear lady, we were all hap- 
pier when we were up north. 

ZOE. 

{Giving him a look of surprise as she paces the room on 
the left.] You! 

Peter. 
I mean, in a previous stage of our careers. 

ZOE. 

Ah, yes, yes. 



36 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 

That's the lesson of life, Mrs. Zoe. We've all had our 
Fitzjohn's Avenue, in a sense. In other words, we've 
all been young and keen as mustard ; with everythin' be- 
fore us, instead of havin' most things behind us. 

Zoe. 
\Leanin^g on the back of the chair before the writing-table^ 
Oh, don't ! 

Peter. 
\ThoughtfuUy.'\ D'ye know, I often wonder whether 
there's anythin' more depressin* than to see the row of 
trophies standin' on the sideboard ? 

Zoe. 

[Sitting at the writing-table and digging her fingers into 
her hair^ Be quiet, Peter ! 

Peter. 
That silver-gilt vase there ! The old horse that gained 
it for you is lyin' in the paddock with a stone a'top of 
him, and you're usin* his hoof as an ink-pot. Those gob- 
lets you won on the river, and the cup you helped your- 
self to on the links at Biarritz or St. Moritz — there's a ht- 
tle pile of ashes at the bottom of every one of 'em ! So 
it is with life generally. You scoop in the prizes — and 
there are the pots on the sideboard to remind you that it 
ain't \\\e prizes that count, but the pushin' and the strug- 
glin' and the cheerin'. Ah, they preach to us on Sun- 
days about cherubim and seraphim ! It's my firm hope 
and conviction that when we die and go to heaven we 
shall all find ourselves up north again — in Fitzjohn's 
Avenue ! [Coming to the chair in the middle of the room.'\ 
Meanwhile, it's no good repinin'. [Turning the chair 



MID-CHANNEL 2n 

tffward her and sitting^l The trophies are on the side- 
board, dear lady, and they've got to be kep' clean and 

shiny. \GravelyJ\ Now, Zoe [She whimpers.'] Zoe, 

Zoe • [She turns to him.'] Zoe, one ugly word passed 

between you and Theo last night 

Zoe. 
One ? 

Peter. 
One ugly word that must never be repeated. 

Zoe. 

What word ? 

[The glazed door opens and Warren appears car- 
rying a teapot on a tray. He comes to the table 
and exchanges the teapot he is carrying for the 
one that is already there. 



Zoe. 

\To the man.] Mr. Mottram won't have any tea, 
Warren. 



Warren. 

[Removing the cups and saucers which have been used 
and putting them on to his tray.] No, ma'am ; but Mr. 
Blundell's just come in, ma'am. 

[Warren withdraws, closing the door. Zoe rises 
stiffly, and gathers up her hat, coat, and gloves. 
Then she returns to Peter, who remains seated. 



Zoe. 
What word was it? 



38 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 

Separation. 

Theodore Blundell, a big, burly, but good- 
looking man, enters at the glazed door. He 
halts on entering and glances furtively at ZOE, 
as if expecting her to speak; but, without meet- 
ing his eyes, she passes him and leaves the 
room. 

Theodore. 

[ With a shrug.'\ Ha ! [Peter, looking over his shoulder, 
sees that he and Theodore are alone. Theodore seats 
himself at the tea-table and pours out his tea grimly^ Lots 
o' good you seem to have done, Peter. 

Peter. 
Haven't done much, I admit. Pity you came home 
quite so soon. 

Theodore. 
You left the office at half-past two. 

Peter. 
She wasn't in when I first got here. 

Theodore. 
[ Taking a slice of bread and butter.} Anyhow, kind of 
you to offer to have a talk to her. iMunching.'] Plenty 
of abuse of me, h'm ? 

Peter. 
She says you're on each other's nerves,Theo. 

Theodore. 
I'm afraid there's something in that. 

Peter. 
And that you are growin' a bit heavy in hand, old 
man. 



MID-CHANNEL 88 

Theodore. 
[Drily.'] Exceedingly sorry. 

Peter, 
[After a pause.] Theo 

Theodore. 
Hallo? 

Peter. 
Shall I tell you what's at the bottom of it all? 

Theodore. 
Well? 

Peter. 
She's got a feehn' that you're tired of her. 

Theodore. 
\Gulping his tea.] If you knew how constantly I have 
that served up to me ! 

Peter. 
Will you allow me to speak out ? 

Theodore. 
Don't be so polite. 

Peter. 
My belief is that, if you could avoid conveyin' that im- 
pression to Zoe, matters would improve considerably in 
this establishment. 

Theodore. 
Oh? 



40 MID-CBANNEL 

Peter. 
It's as easy as biushin' your hat. A little pettin' — a lit- 
tle sweetheartin' 

Theodore. 
Yes? 

Peter. 

[^Discouraged:] Well, those are my views, for what 
they're worth. 

Theodore. 

[Pouring out another cup of tea.] My dear fellow, if 
you'd get married, and have thirteen or fourteen years 
of it, as I've had, your views would be worth more than 
they are. 

Peter. 
Oh, that won't wash. {Rising.] When a man's sufFerin* 
from gout in the toe, he doesn t stipulate that his M.D. 
shall be writhin' from the same ailment. No, very fre- 
quently, the outsider 

Theodore. 
Good gracious, you're not going to remark that lookers- 
on see most of the game ! 

Peter. 
Words to that effect. 

Theodore. 
Ho ! Why is it that, the moment a man's matrimonial 
affairs are in a tangle, every platitude in the language is 
chewed-out at him ? [Leaning his head on his hands.] If 
you've nothing fresher to say on the subject ! 



MID-CHANNEL 41 



Peter. 



lOracu/ar/y.'] My dear chap, it's tryin' to say some- 
thin' fresh on the subject of marriage that's responsible 
for a large share of the domestic unhappiness and dis- 
content existin' at the present day. There's too much of 
this tryin' to say somethin' fresh on eve?y subject, in my 
opinion. 

Theodore. 
Nobody can accuse you, Peter 

Peter. 

You take it from me, there are two institootions in this 
world that are never goin' to alter — men and women and 
the shape of chickens' eggs. Chickens* eggs are never 
goin' to be laid square ; and men and women will con- 
tinue to be mere men and women till the last contango. i 
[Theodore finishes his tea, rises, and comes to the fire.'] 
I'm referrin', of course, to real men and women. I don't 
inclood persons in petdcoats with flat chests and no hips ; 
nor individuals wearin' beards and trousers who dine on 
a basin of farinaceous food and a drink o' water out o' 
the filter. They belong to a distinct species. No ; I 
mean the genuine article, like you and me and your 
missus — men and women with blood in their veins, and 
one-and-a-half per cent, of good, humanizin' alcohol in 
that. 

Theodore. 

\Thro'wing a log on the fire.] What's the moral of 
your eloquent, but rather vague, discourse ? 

* " Contango-day " — a Stock Exchange expression : the day 
on which a buyer or seller " carries over " to the next settling- 
day. 



MID-CHANNEL 



Peter. 



{^At ike chair in the middle of the room.'] The moral ? 
Oh, the moral is that men and women of the ordinary, 
regulation pattern must put up with the defects of each 
other's qualities. [ Turning the chair so that it faces Theo- 
dore and again sitting in it.~\ Slie complains that you 
don't admire her frocks and frills, Theo. 

Theodore. 
[Groaning.'] Oh! 

Peter. 
Now, come ! Where's the trouble ? There's my old 
mother — seventy-five in April! Whenever I'm at Still- 
wood, I make a reg'lar practice of complimentin' her on 
her rig-out. " By Jove, mater," I say, " you are a buck 
this mornin' ! " Or evenin', as the case may be. I 
couldn't tell you what she's wearin', to save my Hfe ; 
but there's no harm done, 

Theodore. 
Yes, you do it ; but your father doesn't do it, I'll be 
bound. [Peter looks glum and is silent.] It's too trivial ! 
[Producing his cigar case.] A husband can't be everlast- 
mgly praising his wife's clothes. {Offering a cigar to 
Peter which he declines.] The absence of comment on 
my part is a sign that I'm satisfied with Zoe's appear- 
ance, surely. 

Peter. 
She's one of the smartest women in London. 

Theodore. 
[Irritably.] I know she is. I've told her so till I'm 
siclc. [Cutting and lighting a cigar.] I've always been 
intensely proud of Zoe, as a matter of fact — intensely 
proud of her. 



MID-CHANNEL 43 

Peter. 
No more than her due. 

Theodore. 
[ With increasing indignation. '\ Good God, how often, 
at a dinner-party, have 1 caught myself looking along the 
table and thinking she's tlie handsomest woman in the 
room ! Tsch ! It's a ridiculous thing to say 

Peter. 
What? 

Theodore. 
I suppose no man has ever been **in love" with his 
wife for longer than I've been with mine. 

Peter. 
\Significantly.'\ Been. 

Theodore. 
And I have a very great affection for her still — or 
should have, if her behavior didn't check it. 

Peter. 

If you showed your affection more plainly, wouldn't 
that check her behavior ? 

Theodore. 
{Leaving the fireplace and moving about the room. ] Oh , 
my dear fellow, haven't you brains enough to see ! 
We're middle-aged people', Zoe and I. I am middle- 
aged, and she's not far off it, poor girl. There must 
come a time on a journey when your pair of horses stop 
prancing and settle down to a trot. 

Peter. 
How's that for a platitude ! 



44 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
I thought that worm-eaten illustration might appeal to 
you, 

Peter. 
She keeps wonderfully young, Theo. 

Theodore. 
Isn't that a little to my credit ? But Zoe's within three 
years of forty. You can't put the clock back. 

Peter. 
A woman's as old as she looks 

Theodore. 
And a man's as old as he feels! Another ancient 
wheeze I 

Peter. 
And a married woman's as old as her husband makes 
her feel. 

Theodore. 
My dear Peter, I don't want Zoe to feel older than her 
years by a single hour. But I confess I do ask her oc- 
casionally to feel as old as her years, and not to make 
herself damnably absurd. 

Peter. 
Absurd ? \ 

Theodore. 
This infernal fooling about with the boys, for instance 
— the cause of last night's flare-up — her " tame robins " — 

you're one ! [Peter rises hastily and goes to the 

fire.'] Yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for 
encouraging her. 



MID-CHANNEL 45 

Peter. 
Who's in fault? Because a man's wife has ceased to 
be attractive to him, it doesn't follow that she ain't at- 
tractive to others. 

Theodore. 
{Contemptuously :\ Attractive? The vanity of " attract- 
ing " a parcel of empty-headed young men ! You're the 
patriarch of the group ! [ Throwing himself into the chair 
just vacated by Peter.] The whole thing's undignified 
— raffish. 

Peter. 
{Extending a forefinger. '\ You contrive to be a trifle 
more sprightly at home, Theo 

Theodore. 
{Moving his head from side to side.'\ Oh, you will ham- 
mer away at that! I'm forty-six. My sprightly days 
are over. 

Peter. 
{Emphatically.'] Humbug, old chap. 

Theodore. 
What's humbug ? 

Peter. 
Men are the biggest humbugs goin'— especially to them- 
selves. And a man of your age or mine— and I'm four 
years your senior— is never a bigger humbug than when 
he's deloodin* himself with the notion that he's scrap- 
iron. 

Theodore. 
You're a gay old spark 



46 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
No, it's when the sun's working round to the west — 
it's when men are where we are now, that they're most 
liable to get into mischief. 

Theodore. 
Mischief? What are you driving at ? 

Peter. 
Nothin'. I'm simply lay in' down a general principle. 

Theodore. 
[^Angrily.'] Confound your general principles ! Don't 
be an ass. 

Peter. 
[Coming to Theodore.] That stoopid nonsense talked 
last night — early this mornin' — about livin' apart — who 
started it ? 

Theodore. 
Zoe. I fancy it was Zoe — last night. 

Peter. 
Oh, it wasn't the first time ? 

Theodore. 
[^Smoking with fierce puffs.'] We had an awful scene — 
disgraceful. I felt inchned to rush out of the house then 
and there. 

Peter. 
Why didn't you ? You could have let yourself in again 
when she'd gone to by-by. 

Theodore. 
[Sullenfy.'] No, that's not my style. If ever I do bang 
the front door, it'll be once and for all, my friend. 



MID-CHANNEL 47 

Peter. 
IShaking him.'] Oh! Oh! 

Theodore. 
She's independent ; she has her own income — you 
know — and I've told her I'd supplement it, if necessary. 
I've settled this house on her as it is ; she'd be welcome 
to it, and every stick in it, worst come to the worst. 

Peter. 
Theo! 

Theodore. 
And I'd go and live in a garret, in peace. 

Peter. 
You're not considerin' such a step seriously? 

Theodore. 

{^Turning upon him roughly.'] No, I'm not — not when 
I'm sitting here chatting quietly with you. Nor when 
she's rational and — and — and amenable, as she can be 
when she chooses. \^Clenching his hands.] But when 
she's irritating me till I'm half beside myself, I — I 

Peter. 
You^ ? 

Theodore. 

[^Looking up at Peter.] My God, Peter, you're a wise 
man, never to have taken it on ! 

Peter. 
Marriage ? 



48 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
\Throwing his head back.'] Oh, my dear fellow ! 

\_The glazed door opens and Zoe enters ?neekiy. Her 
eyes are red, and a handkerchief is crumpled up 
in her hand. She glances at the tea-table and 
comes to Theodore. Peter retreats to the 
fireplace. 

Zoe. 

{To Theodore, in a piteous voice.] Have you— had 
your tea ? 

Theodore. 
{Frigidly.] I poured it out myself. 

\After a moments hesitation, she bends over him 
and gives him a kiss. 7 hen she turns away 
and, seating herself at the writing-table, pro- 
ceeds to write a note. There is an awkward 
silence. 

Theodore. 
{Bfeaking the silence, gruffly 7] Er — Zo 

Zoe. 
\With a sniff, writing.] Yes ? 

Theodore. 
What are you doing to-night ? 

Zoe. 
Jim Mallandain was going to take me to the Palace. 
I'm putting him off. 

Theodore. 
I'll dine you out and take you somewhere. 



MID-CHANNEL 49 

ZOE. 

No, I'd rather have a quiet evening at home, Theo — 
just you and me. {^Blowing hernose.'] I've ordered Mrs. 
Killick to send up an extra-nice dinner. 

Theodore. 
Perhaps Peter 

ZOE. 

[Stamping her foot.'] No, I won't have him. 

Peter. 
Besides, I'm booked. 

ZOE. 

[Petulantly.'] I don't care whether you are or not. I 
want to dine alone with my husband. 

[There is another pause, during which ZoE scratches 
away with her pen. 

Peter. 
[Clearing his throat.] Well, I'll be gettin* along. 
[Theodore rises.] I say 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

Peter. 
Why don't you and Zoe have a week or a fortnight in 
Paris? It 'ud do you both a heap of good. 

Theodore. 
Impossible. How can I ? 

Peter. 
Cert'nly you can. If anythin' important crops up, Tom 
Slade or I will run over to you ; or you could come back. 



60 dllD-CHANNEL 

[^Again there is a pause. ZoE stops writing,'^ Do, old 
chap. \Another pause.'] Won't you ? 

Theodore. 
[ Without enthusiasm.'] All right, 

Peter. 
A fortnight? Nothin' 11 happen. 

Theodore. 
[Nodding.] A fortnight. 

\Utiering a little chirp of delight, TxyE. resumes 
writing. Peter goes to her as Theodore 
moves away to the fireplace. 

Peter. 
\To Zoe.] Good-bye, ma'am. \She gives him her left 
hand over her shoulder. He squeezes it and makes for the 
glazed door. There he appears to be struck by an idea. 
After a silence, he turns slowly, contemplates the pair for a 
moment with a puckered brow , and advances a step or two.] 
Theo 

Theodore. 

[ Who has picked up one of the illustrated papers and has 
seated himself upon the settee. ] H ' m .? 

Peter. 
[//?5 hands in his pockets, rattling his keys.] About 
half-way between Dover and Calais — no, it's between 
Folkestone and Boulogne, ain't it? 

Theodore. 
{Examining the pictures. ] What ? 

Peter. 
Of course ! About half-way between Folkestone and 
Boulogne — mid-Channel — there's a shoal. 



MID-CHANNEL 51 

Theodore. 
[ Turning a page of his paper. ] What of it ? 

Peter. 
Le Colbart, the French sailormen call it — Le Colbart. 
We call it the Ridge. [^Coming forward.'] If you go by 
Folkestone and Boulogne, you'll pass over it. 

Theodore. 
\Glancing at him suspiciously.] Thanks for the valuable 
information. 

Peter. 
D'ye know, I've never encountered that blessed shoal 
without experiencin' a most unpleasant time ? 

ZOE. 

{Addressing an envelope.] Oh, my dear Peter ! 

Peter. 
I've crossed on some of the finest days o' the year. 
The sun's been shinin', and outside the harbor the water's 
been as smooth as it's been mside. Everythin's looked 
as enticin' as could be ; but as we've neared the Ridge — 
mid-Channel — I've begun to feel fidgety, restless, out o' 
sorts — hatin' myself and hatin' the man who's been sharin' 
my cabin with me. But the sensation hasn't lasted long. 

ZOE. 

[Sealing her letter.] Glad to hear it. 

Peter. 
No ; gradually the beastly motion has died down, and 
in a quarter of an hour or so I've found myself pacin' the 
deck again, arm-in-arm with the traveUn' -companion I've 
been positively loathin' a few minutes earlier. 



52 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[^Gaptn^ demonstrative ly.~\ Very interesting. 

Peter. 
My dear pals, I remember the idea once occurrin' to 
me — I mentioned it to Charlie Westbrook at the time — 
there's a resemblance between that and marriage. 

Theodore. 
{Shortly.'] Ha ! Thought that was coming. 

[ZoE turns in her chair, to listen to Peter. 

Peter. 
Yes, and marriage, mark you, at its best and brightest. 
The happiest and luckiest of married couples have got to 
cross that wretched Ridge. However successful the first 
half of their journey may be, there's the rough-atid-tum- 
ble of mid-Channel to negotiate. Some arrive there 
quicker than others, some later ; it depends on wind and 
tide. But they ^<?/ there ; and a bad time it is, and must 
be — a time when travelin' -companions see nothin' but the 
spots on each other's yellow faces, and when innoomera- 
ble kind words and innoomerable kind acts are clean for- 
gotten. [Zoe, her letter in her hand, rises impulsively and 
comes to Peter.] But, as I tell you, it's soon over— well 
over, if only Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill will understand the 
situation ; if only they'll say to themselves, " We're on 
the Ridge ; we're in mid-Channel ; in another quarter 
of an hour the boat' 11 be steady again — as steady as when 
we stepped on to the gangway." [Ti? Theodore.] Not 
offended, old man? 

Theodore. 
[^Uncomfortably.'] Ha, ha, ha ! 



MID-CHANNEL 63 

ZOE. 

[^Gently, giving her letter to Peter,] Tell Warren to give 

that to a messenger boy. \_To Theodore.] Theo ! 

\She puts her hands upon Peter's shoulders and 
kisses him. 

Peter. 
\_Chuckling.'] Ha, ha! [7b Theodore.] Division of 
profits. \At the glazed door.'\ When' 11 you be off ? 

Theodore. 
Oh — one day next week. 

Peter. 
\Nodding.'\ To-morrow mornin', then. 

\He goes out, closing the door. 

Dear old Peter ! 

Theodore. 

{Deep in his paper.'\ Peter's getting a bit of a bore, 
though. 

Zoe. 

\Mimicking Peter, as she wipes her eyes.'] He's 
amusin'. [^Going to Theodore and seating herself beside 
him.] Theo 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

Zoe. 
{Edging up to him.] Let's go by Folkestone and 
Boulogne — shall we ? 

Theodore. 
/ don't mind. 



54 MID-CHANNEL 



ZOE. 



\^lVisifuliy.'] Let's go by Folkestone and Boulogne — 
and have done with it. [Slipping her arm through his^ 
Theo — last night — sorry. [He nods and looks at another 
picture.'] I take it all back — the things I said. I didn't 
mean them. 

Theodore. 
That's all right. 

ZOE. 

And you didn't mean ? 

Theodore. 
[Impatiently.'] Of course I didn't. 

ZOE. 

[Giving herself a shake. '] Ah! [After a brief pause.'] 
Theo 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

ZOE. 

[Taking the paper from him playfully.] Don't look at 
those improper young ladies, [Coaxingly.] Couldn't you 
manage to get away on Sunday ? 

Theodore. 
Oh— I might. 

ZOE. 

It's your treat to me, isn't it — and the beginning of 
better times ? The sooner we begin — 

Theodore. 
[Nodding.] You shall have it all your own way. 



MW-GHANNEL 56 

ZOE. 

IGleefuily.l Sunday! 

Theodore 
H'm. 

ZOE. 

I'm dreadfully shabby. I've no new clothes. You 
don't object? 

Theodore. 
\^DtstinciIy.'] Now, my dear Zo — my darUng — under- 
stand this from me clearly. You are never shabby ; you 
couldnt be shabby. As far as I am a judge, you are 
always dressed beautifully and — and — and in perfect 
taste. 

Zoe. 

Beautifully ! 

Theodore. 
If you were not well-dressed, I should venture to call 
your attention to it. 

Zoe. 
Silence is approval ? 

Theodore. 
Absolutely. So don't expect me — a busy man — to be 
eternally praising your gowns and what not ; because I 
cannot and will not do it. 

Zoe. 
I won't— I won't. I know I'm inconsiderate — [stamp- 
ing her f oof] beastly inconsiderate. [Excitedly. 1 Write 
out a telegram now 



66 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
Telegram ? 

ZOE. 

To the hotel. 

Theodore. 
Yes, that 'ud be wise. [^He rises and goes over io ike 
writing-table where, taking a sheet of fiote-paper, he sits 
and writes.'] We couldn't get an answer to a letter. 

ZOE. 

[yumping up and walking about.'] Jolly nice rooms, 
Theo! 

Theodore. 
[Assentingly.'] H'm, h'm. 

ZOE. 

[^Humming.'] Tra, la! ra, la ! la, ra, la ! 

Theodore. 
[/« the throes of composition.'] Sssh, sssh I 

ZOE. 

[^Opening the illustrated paper.'] Beg pardon. 



Theodore. 
salle de bain — et salon 



\_Writing.] " deux bonnes chambres a coucher — 

He de bain — el 



ZOE. 

There's Lena. Don't forget the maid. 

Theodore. 
Oh, they shove her anywhere. 



MID-CHANNEL 57 

ZOE. 

\_Imperativeiy.^ No, no ; I must have her handy. \^He 
writes.'] What hotel are we going to, Theo? 

Theodore, 

[^IVriting.'] " aussi chambre pour servante meme 

etage *' 

ZOE. 

TheRitz? 

Theodore. 
Oh, blow the Ritz ! 

ZOE. 

We've always deen comfortable at the Ritz. 

Theodore. 
[^Putiing the finishing touches to his telegram.'] Twenty 
francs a minute. 

ZOE. 

[^Disappointed.] Where then? The Elysee Palace is 
too far out this weather. The Regina ? 

Theodore. 
[Reading.] " Pouvez-vous reserver pour Monsieur et 
Madame Blundell pour dimanche et nuits suivantes 
apartement compose deux bonnes chambres a coucher, 
salle de bain, et salon, aussi chambre pour servante meme 
6tage? Reponse telegraphique. Theodorus, London." 

ZOE. 

[Advancing.] Oh, Theo ! Shall we try the new Meu- 
rice ? The Langdales had a suite there that made them 
feel like Royalties. 



68 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
■ \Half'tuming to her.'\ Gerald Duckfield was telling 
me of a capital little hotel where he and Bessie stayed — 
the Vendome 

ZOE. 

Where's that? 

Theodore. 
In the Place Vendome. 

ZOE. 

The Ritz — the Bristol — the Rhin — they're the only ho- 
tels in the Place. 

Theodore. 
Oh, but this is in the part of the Place that runs down 
to the top of the Rue Castiglione. 

Zoe. 
The narrow part ! 

Theodore. 
Well, it isn't the broad part, certainly, 

Zoe. 
The traffic of the Rue St. Honore to help to send you to 
sleep ! 

Theodore. 
No, no ; there are double windows, Gerald says, to the 
best bedrooms. {Turning to the writing-table 7^ It 'ud be 
an experiment. 

Zoe. 
\Sitttng in the chair in the middle of the room, with her 
back to him.'] Yes, it would be an experiment. 



MID-CHANNEL 69 

Theodore. 
Shall we risk it ? 

ZOE. 

[Cbidfy.'] By all means. 

Theodore. 
[Writing.'] "Directeur — Hotel Vendome 

Zoe. 
[ Tapping her feet upon the floor.] Ha I 

Theodore. 
H'm ? • * Place Vendome ' ' 

Zoe. 
\Holdingup the illustrated paper so that he may see, over 
her head, a risque picture.] If you were taking this sort 
of woman with you, nothing 'ud be good enough for her. 

Theodore. 
[Glancing at the picture, angrily.] Oh, don't be so 
coarse ! [There is a pause. He leans back in his chair, 
biting his pen. Suddenly she flings the illustrated paper 
away from her into the air. Throwing down his pen, he 
rises and paces the room.] This promises well for an en- 
joyable fortnight in Paris ! 

Zoe. 
[Rising and 7noving to the left.] Look here, old man ! 
This trip was going to he your ticsit. Very well, that's 
off! I'll take you to Paris ; Til pay the expenses ; and 
I won't stuff you up in a frowsy rabbit-hutch. 

Theodore. 
[Coming forward on the right.] Don't insult me ! 



60 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 
[Facing Mm."] Anyway, your treat or mine, I stay at 
no hotel in Paris that isn't top-hole. 

Theodore. 
[Furwus/j/.'] Oh, stop your damned slang, for God's 
sake! 

ZOE. 

l/fer eyes blassing.'\ What ! 

Theodore. 

[Sitting on the fauieuil-stool and rocking himself to and 
fro.'\ Oh! Oh! 

Zoe. 
Stop my damned slang ! 

Theodore. 
[His head in his hands. 1 Hold your tongue ! 

Zoe. 
[Coming to him."] And how did I learn my damned 
slang, pray? [He waves her from himJ] I learnt it from 
the crew you surrounded me with when I condescended 
to marry you and went out of my world into yours. 

Theodore. 

[Starting up.^ Oh ! 

[He goes to the bell and rings it continuously, 

Zoe. 
[Following him.'\ Yes, you were hugely tickled by it 
then I And so were they — the men you thought might be 
serviceable to you ; and who were serviceable to you, 
often through me! 



MID-CHANNEL 61 

Theodore. 
Oh! 

ZOE. 

Ha ! And now that my tongue's furred with it, and it 
isn't necessary to attract the vulgar brutes any more, you 
round on me and rag me ! \_Pacing the room on the left.'] 
Oh ! Oh ! If only my dear old dad were alive ! He'd 
fuss over me and protect me. My father was a gentle- 
man. He warned me I was chucking myself away ! 

Theodore. 
Oh! 

ZOE. 

X^lVildly.] Why do you keep on ringing that bell? 

Theodore. 

[/« a loud voice.'] I suppose I can ring the bell if I 
like ! 

ZOE. 

You — you can go to the devil if you like ! 

[_She goes out at the glazed door. As she disap- 
pears, Warren passes her and enters. 

Theodore. 
{Crossing to the writing- table.] Warren 

Warren. 
Yessir ? 

Theodore. 
{^Picking up the sheet of paper on which he has written 
the message to the hotel.] Pack me a bag. 



em MID-CHANNEL 

Warren. 
Bag, sir? 

Theodore. 
\^Tean'n^ the paper into small pieces."] Yes; I'm not 
sleeping at home to-night. 

Warren. 
[^Comin^ to the table and preparing to remove the tea- 
things j\ Very good, sir. 



END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



THE SECOND ACT 

The scene is the same, but the disposition of some of the 
furniture is changed. The settee on the right is now 
placed with its back to the f replace. At the further 
end of the settee are the oblong table and chair y and on 
the left of the table, facing the settee , is the chair which 
in the preceding act stood in the middle of the room. 
An armchair is at the nearer end of the settee ; and an- 
other armchair and the fauteuil-stool stand together, not 
far from the glazed door. 
On the oblong table are a box of cigarettes, matches, and 

an ash-tray. 
The fireplace is banked with flowers, there are flowers in 
vases upon the tables, and the room is full of sunlight. 
[Two men — an upholsterer and his assistant — are 
engaged in puttitig covers of gay chintz upon the 
chairs and settees. The upholsterer is on his 
knees at the settee on the right, the assistant is 
at the chair by the writing-table. Lena, Zoe's 
maid — a bright, buxom woman — // arranging 
the furniture in the middle of the room. Pres- 
ently the assistant proceeds to collect the brown 
paper and cord which litter the floor. 

Upholsterer. 
\Rtsingfrom his knees — to Lena.] That's all right. 

Lena. 
\Coming to him.'] And when are we to have the pleas- 
ure of seeing you again ? 

63 



64 MID-CHANNEL 

Upholsterer. 
To-morrow. 

Lena. 
What about next year, or the year after ! [^Producing 
her purse and giving him a tip.'] In case I shouldn't live 
so long. 

Upholsterer. 
Thank you very much. [Moving away — quietly.'] Will- 
iam 

[The assistant, laden with brown paper, advances, 
and Lena tips him. 

Assistant. 
Thank you, miss. Good-morning, miss. 

Lena. 
Good-morning. 

Upholsterer. 
[At the glazed door. ] Good-morning. 

Lena. 

[Tidying the furniture on the right.] Good-morning. 
[The meti depart. Almost immediately, the glazed 
door is reopened and Warren appears, show- 
ing in Leonard. Leonard is gloved and is 
carrying a straw hat and a walking-cane. He 
has lost his fresh, boyish appearance and is 
sallow and lined. 

Leonard. 
[To Lena.] Good-morning. 

Lena. 
[Familiarly^ Oh, good-morning. [TJ? Warren.] I'll 
let Mrs. Blundell know. [To Leonard, as Warren 



MIDCHANNEL 65 

withdraws. ~\ She'll be down soon. Will you have a 
paper ? 

Leonard. 
Thanks; seen 'em. How is she, Lena? 

Lena. 

Middling. She's a Httle feverish, the doctor says. She 
must have caught a chill coming over. [Leonard nods.'] 
She would sit on deck, talking to Mr. Mallandain. We 
met him by accident on the platform as we were leaving 
Paris. 

Leonard. 
\Nodding again^ She's told me. 

Lena. 
She's to remain indoors again to-day and keep out o* 
draughts. [Looking at a watch which she wears on her 
wrist and at the clock on the mantelpiece.] What do you 
say the right time is ? 

Leonard. 
[Looking at his watch.] Quarter to twelve. 

Lena. 
[Going to the mantelpiece.] I'm to give her her med'- 
cine an hour before meals. [Moving the hands of the 
clock.] Ha ! They've all been playing tricks here while 
we've been away, clock-winder included. 

Leonard. 
[Absently:] Indeed? 

Lena. 
Servants, tradespeople, everybody! [Unbuckling her 
bracelet,] Because Mrs. Blundell is now on her own, 1 



66 MID-CHANNEL 

s'pose they fancy they can take advantage of her. [^Re- 
turning to Leonard.] I'll teach 'em! [" Ti7ning" her 
watch.'] Think we're getting fairly straight? 

Leonard. 

[Glancing idly at the room as he sits in the armchair 
near the glazed door.] Wonderfully. 

Lena. 
Not bad, is it, considering we've been home only two 
days? 

Leonard. 
[Placing his hat and cane upon the fauteuil'Stool.] 
Capital. 

Lena. 
[Refastening her bracelet^ Ouf ! The relief, after some 
of those foreign hotels ! 

Leonard. 
[Drawing off his gloves,] Tired of traveling, eh ? 

Lena. 

Don't ask me ! I was saying to Mrs. Killick at break- 
fast — I've had enough of Italy to last me my life. Over 
four months of it, and without a courier ! [Going toward 
the glazed door.] That's a bit too stiff. 

Leonard. 
It is rather. 

Lena. 

[Halting by him and dropping her voice slightly^ Not 
that we wanted a courier when j^« came out to us. A 
splendid courier you were ; I couldn't wish for a better. 



MID-CHANNEL 67 

Leonard. 
- \Uncomfortably.'\ Ha, ha! 

Lena. 
{Laugking^l Do you remember our losing her hat-box 
at that wretched old Siena ? 

Leonard. 
Yes— yes. 

Lena. 
You woke *em up there in grand style. Ha, ha! 
Your friend, the Itahan policeman — the image in the 
feathers ! 

Leonard. 
Ha, ha ! 

Lena. 
You did give him a dressing ! {Sobering herself J] Yes. 
those three or four weeks you were with us were the pleas- 
antest o' the lot, to my idea. \Going.'\ Well, good-day. 
{Stopping a^ain.'] Oh, but I must show you this. {Tak- 
ing a ring from her finger.'] A present from her — last Sat- 
urday — one of the best shops in the Roo Royarl. {Hand- 
ing it to him.] She went out and bought it herself. 

Leonard. 
Turquoise 

Lena. 
And diamonds. 

Leonard. 
{Returning the ring.] Beautiful. 



68 MID-CHANNEL 

Lena. 
Wasn't it kind of her ! I'm as vain as a peacock. {^Re- 
placing the ring on her finger. '\ But there, you've both 
been extremely good to me. 

Leonard. 
Not at all. 

Lena. 
You have ; you've spoilt me completely. \At the door, 
speaking louderJ] Treacherous weather for June, isn't it? 

Leonard. 
Very. 

Lena. 
[/« the corridor.'] Oh, here you are ! Here's Mr. Fer- 
ris — I was just coming up to tell you 

[Leonard rises as Zoe appears in the corridor. 
She is dressed in an elegant robe of rich, soft ma- 
terial and carries a little bag in which are a 
few opened letters, her handkerchief , etc. She 
also is changed. Her face is wan and there are 
dark circles round her eyes. 

Zoe. 

Ah ? \To Leonard, formally, as she enters the room."] 
Good-morning. 

Leonard. 
Good -morning. 

Zoe. 
Lena, how charming the old chintz looks ! 

Lena. 
llVho is lingering.'] It's Enghsh ! 



MID-CHANNEL 69 

ZOE. 

\_Laying her bag upon the oblong table.'] If we could all 
be freshened up by the same process ! 

Lena. 
\^Her hand on the door-handle ^^ Don't forget you're to 
take your med'cine in three-quarters of an hour. 

ZOE. 

Oh, bring me the filthy stuff when you Hke. 

Lena. 

\In the corridor, closing the door.] Now, don't be 
naughty. 

[As the woman disappears, Leonard walks over 
to ZoE. She puts out her hand to check him, 
and they stand for a moment or two watching 
the door and listening. Then she drops her 
hand and turns her face to hitn perfunctorily, 
and he kisses her as a matter of course. 

ZOE. 

Your motor isn't outside ? 

Leonard. 
No ; I walked across the Park. 

ZOE. 

That yellow car of yours is so conspicuous. {Arranging 
a pillow on the settee.] Sorry I wasn't visible yesterday. 

Leonard. 
You're better ? 

ZOE. 

\Evasively.] Oh, more or less decrepit. [Sitting.] 
What have you been doing with yourself? 



70 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
Nothing much . [^Sitting in the armchair opposite to her.'\ 
Except 

ZOE. 

[Taking her hag from the table."] By-the-bye, I've had 
a note this morning from an old friend of yours. 

Leonard. 
Who? 

ZOE. 

[Producing a letter from the bag.] Ethel Pierpoint. 

Leonard. 
[Inexpressively.] Oh ? [She extracts the letter from its 
envelope and tosses it across to him. He reads it silently, 
with a frown. She takes a cigarette from the box on the 
table.] I thought you'd dropped her. 

Zoe. 
I did, in a fashion. I stopped her letters by ceasing to 
answer them. [Striking a match.] I hated calling myself 
hers affectionately, knowing I'd been the cause of your 
slacking away from her. 

Leonard. 
[Under his breath.] Pish ! 

Zoe. 
[Lighting her cigarette.] What does she say ? 

Leonard. 

[Reading aloud.] " Dearest Zoe. Quite by chance I 

hear you are back at Lancaster Gate. Why do you still 

make no sign ? I never wanted your friendship more 

than now — or the friendship of somebody who will give 



MID-CHANNEL 71 

me good advice, or a sound shaking for being a fool. 
Please take pity on your troubled but ever devoted, Ethel 
Drayson Pierpoint." \7o Zoe.] What does she mean by 
never wanting your friendship more than now? [Zoe 
shakes her head. He continues to ponder over the letter^ 
" — or the friendship of somebody who will give me good 
advice, or a sound shaking for being a fool." 

Zoe. 
{Smoking, thoughtfully.'} When did you see the Pier- 
points last ? 

Leonard. 
About a month after you left London — ^just before I 
followed you. {Returning the letter to her.} I cooled off 
them gradually. 

Zoe. 
{After a pause.'] She's a nice girl — Ethel. 

Leonard. 
Ye — es, she was nice enough. 

{There is a further pause. 7 hen Zo^ Jumps up, 
as if to dismiss disagreeable reflections, and 
crosses to the writing-table. There she empties 
her bag of the letters it contains. 

Leonard. 
{Gloomily.] Am I in the way ? 

Zoe. 
{Fretfully.] Of course not. {She sits at the writing- 
table and busies herself with re?-eading her letters and des- 
troying some of them. Leonard rises and takes a cigar- 
ette from the box.] Poor Robby Relf has got neuritis. 

Leonard. 
{Lighting his cigarette.] Zo 



72 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 
Eh? 

Leonard. 
I was going to tell you — I dined at the Carlton last 
night. 

ZOE. 

{Indifferently,'] Oh? 

Leonard. 
With Cossy Rawlings. Guess who was there. 

ZOE. 

\Becoming attentive. '\ Dun' no. 

Leonard. 
He didn't see me — he was at a table the other side of 
the room 

Zoe. 

{Holding her breath . ] Theodore ? 

Leonard. 

Yes. 

{She throws the pieces of a letter into the waste- 
Paper basket and leans back in her chair. 

Zoe. 
How — how did he look ? 

Leonard. 
{Curling his lipJ] I didn't study his appearance. 

Zoe. 
He — he wasn't — by himself? 



MID-CHANNEL 78 

Leonard. 
Hardly ! 

ZOB. 

That — that woman ? 

Leonard. 
[^Nodding.'] Same lady. 

ZOE. 

Simply the two ? 

Leonard. 
[Sitting upon the settee on the right.'] The two turtle 
doves. 

[After a brief silence, she pushes her letters from 
her, rises, and moves about the room quietly but 
agitatedly, 

ZOE. 

Who is this creature ? 

Leonard. 

[Impatiently.] I've told you— and Jim told you on 
Sunday. 

Zoe. 
Hatherly — Annerly ? 

Leonard. 
Her husband was a Major Annerly — Frank Annerly. 
He divorced her over a man of the name of Bettison. 

Zoe. 
Where's hef 



74 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
He's dead. She's been through a good many hands 
since. 

ZOE. 

Ho! 

Leonard, 
Fred Wishart was one — and Tod Arnold 

ZOE. 

She's quite young, isn't she ? 

Leonard. 
Looks a baby. 

ZOE. 

Ha! 

Leonard. 
I should put her at thirty. 

ZOE. 

Pretty ? They all are ! 

Leonard. 
Passable. 

ZOE. 

\_Behind the chair on the left of the oblong table.'] Do 
you think she's — with him ? 

Leonard. 
Not regularly. She's still hving in Egerton Crescent, 
according to Cossy. 



MID-CHANNEL 75 

ZOE. 

{Gripping the back of the chair.'] She'll ruin him ; she'll 
ruin him, Len. 

Leonard. 

Oh, I dare say there'll be a bit left, when she's done 
with him. 

ZOE. 

There are other ways of dragging a man down besides 
through his pocket. Jim Mallandain says she's a vam- 
pire. 

Leonard. 
Why should you worry yourself ? 

ZOE. 

I don't want him to come to grief. Why should I ? 

Leonard. 
If he does, you've nothing to reproach yourself with. 

ZOE. 

[Giving him a swift look.'] What ! 

Leonard. 
{SuUenlyT] Oh, you know what I mean— nothing that 
occurred before he took himself off. 

Zoe. 

\Moving to the oblong table, with a long-drawn sigh^^ 
Ah-h-h ! [Sitting, her elbows on the table, leaning her head 
on her hand.] It will always be on my conscience that I 
drove him away. 

Leonard. 
You didn't drive him away. 



76 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 
I did. 

Leonard. 
You were quite justified in doing it, anyhow. He made 
your life a burden to you. 

ZOE. 

I might have been more patient with him ; I might 
have waited. 

Leonard. 
Waited? 

ZOE. 

Waited till we'd got through the middle period of our 
hves. \_Kaising her head.'\ Peter warned us, the very day 
we parted 

Leonard. 

\Sneeringly.'\ Peter! 

ZOE. 

Mid-Channel ! We should soon have reached the 
other side. 

Leonard. 
There's a hmit to human endurance ; you'd passed it. 

Zoe. 
[Staring before herJ] It seems to me now, there wasn't 
so very much for me to put up with — not so very much. 
\ Rising and walking to the back of the settee on which 
Leonard is sitting j\ There was a lot of good in him, 
really. After all, he only needed managing, hu- 
moring 



MID-CHANNEL 77 

Leonard. 
[Starting: up and turning to her.'] Upon my soul, Zoe ! 
Ha ! You're discovering no end of fine qualities in him 
suddenly ! 

Zoe. 
lBitterly.-\ Ami! 

Leonard. 
You hadn't a decent word for him when we were in 
Italy ! Now he's perfect ! 

Zoe. 
[Facing him.'] No, he's not. 

Leonard. 
[Satiricaily.'] Sounds like it. 

Zoe. 
\_Fiaring «/.] Neither he nor you I You can be just 
as unkind to me as he ever was. 

Leonard. 
\Angrily.'] I! 

Zoe. 

Yes ! And, with all his faults, he did try to take care 
of me — to keep me from harm ! [^Her eyes ablaze.] My 
God, what have^^« done ! 

\They remain confronting one another for a moment 
without speaking. Then he turns away ab- 
ruptly and picks up his hat and cane. She rum 
after him and clings to him. 

Zoe. 

No, no ; don't be hasty. I didn't mean it— I didn't 
mean it 



18 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
[Endeavoring to free himself. '\ Let me go — 

ZOB. 

Ah, no ! I'm not well to-day 

Leonard. 
I'll come back when you're better tempered. 

ZOE. 

I am better tempered. Look ! it's all over. {Coaxing 
him to give up his hat and cane.'] Lenny — Lenny dear — 
Lenny {Placing the hat and cane upon the writing- 
table ^ she takes her handkerchief from her bag and dries her 
eyes. He sits in the armchair near the glazed door sulkily .'\ 
Ha, ha ! Now you're beginning to see what sort of a 
time poor Theo had with me. 

Leonard. 
Oh, can't you leave off talking about him for a single 
second ! 

ZOE. 

{Coming to him meekly.] I beg your pardon, dear. 

Leonard. 
You've got that fellow on the brain. 

ZOE. 

{Standing behind him.] You started it, by telling me 
of last night. 

Leonard. 

Why the deuce shouldn 1 1 tell you of last night! Do 

sit down. {She sits near him, upon the fauteuil-stool.A I 

can't make you out, Zo. This woman's only what we ve 

been waiting for. I've said all along he'd soon give you 



MID-CHANNEL 79 

an opportunity of divorcing him. She completes your 
case for you. 

ZOE. 

\Pully.'\ Yes. 

Leonard. 

[^Grumblin^.'] You ought to be tremendously obliged 
to Jim for being the first to open your eyes — my eyes too 
—to what's going on. Instead of which, you're upset by 
it. And now, because I've seen Blundell and the lady 
together, I'm favored by hearing Mr. B. described as a 
model husband 

ZOE. 

[To silence him.l ^^ ' 

Leonard. 

[Changing his tone.'] When do you interview your 
lawyers r 

ZOE. 

I— I haven't written to them yet. 

Leonard. 
You were to do it after I left you on Monday. 

Zoe. 
I — I've been feeling so cheap, Len. 

Leonard. 
[ With a short laugh.] We shall be gray -haired before 
we're married, at this rate. ^She lays her hand on his 
appeasingly. He retains her hand.] I believe you'll have 
to go through the form of trying to compel Blundell to 
return to you. Of course, he'll refuse. Meanwhile we 
must have the lady's house watched— or Blundell's flat. 



80 MID-CHANNEL 

I shouldn't be surprised if he'd arrange that part of the 
business with you, to save trouble and expense. Drop a 
line to Maxwells to-day, will you ? 

ZOE. 

I0bediently.'\ Yes. 

Leonard. 
Or ring them up. You'll be able to get out to-morrow 
— or one of them would wait on you. 

ZOE. 

Yes. 

Leonard. 
That's right, old girlie. Kiss me. [They kiss, quickly 
and cautiously, without ardor.'] Sorry. 

ZOE. 

ITurning- to him and lowering her voice almost to a 
whisper.] Lenny 

Leonard. 
What? 

ZOE. 

Don't forget — Perugia. 

Leonard. 
\In an outburst.] Oh, yes — curse the place! — let's for- 
get Perugia. I was off my head there. I behaved hke 
a blackguard. You needn't be continually throwing it 
in my teeth. 

ZOE. 

No, no ; I'm not scolding you again. \Gently^ What 
I mean is — your breaking your word to me at Perugia — 
staying in the same hotel 



MID-CHANNEL 81 

Leonard. 
Well? 

ZOE. 

If Theodore's solicitors got hold of that 

Leonard. 
{Rising and walking away.'] Yes, but they won't get 
hold of It. 

ZOE. 

[Twisting herself round toward him.'] You remember 
our meeting Claud Lowenstein at the railway station at 
Arezzo ? 

Leonard. 
I explained to him that my being in the train with you 
was pure chance. I made that square. 

ZOE. 

He was going on to Perugia— to the Brufani. [Rising.] 
He may have been suspicious— he may have inquired 

Leonard. 
Even that little swine wouldn't tell tales. 

ZOE. 

[Coming to him.] Then there's Lena— they might 
pump Lena 

Leonard. 
My dear girl, all this would be very terrible if Blundell 
wasn't as anxious to get rid of you as we are to get rid of 
him. No, you take my word for it— he won't defend. 
His game is to be free at any price. 



82 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

To marry again perhaps ! 

Leonard. 
Probably. 

ZOE. 

[Clenching her hands.'\ Ah, no ! 

Leonard. 
\_His brow darkening again.'] Doesn't that please you ? 
There's no satisfying you, Zee. [She leaves him and 
paces the room distractedly.] A minute ago you were 
frightened lest he should be ruined by Mrs. Annerly ! 

ZOE. 

\0n the left.] I— I couldn't bear the idea of another 
woman being a better wife to him than I was ! I couldn't 
bear it, Lenny ! 

Leonard. 
Why, what concern would it be of yours ! 

ZOE. 

[ With a gesture, as the glazed door opens.] Sssh ! 

[Warren appears. 

Warren. 
[To ZoE.] I beg your pardon, ma'am— Mr. Mottram. 

ZOE. 

{Uttering a little, eager cry.] Ah ! 

Warren. 
He'll call again, ma'am, if you're engaged. 



MID-CHANNEL 89 

ZOE. 

Did you say I — I'd anybody with me? 

Warren. 
No, ma'am. 

ZOE. 

\After a slight pause — indicating the adjoining roofn,'\ 
Is that room still covered up ? 

Warren. 
Yes, ma'am. 

ZOE. 

Well — show him in there for the moment. 

Warren. 
Yes, ma'am. \^He withdraws, closing the door. 

ZOE. 

[To Leonard, in a low voice."] He'd better not find 
you here so early. 

Leonard. 
[Also dropping his voice, testily.'] Why need you bother 
yourself with old Peter this morning ? 

ZOE. 

[Bringing Leonard his hat and cane.] I haven't seen 
him since January. Don't look so cross. [Caressing his 
cheek.] Are you engaged to lunch anywhere ? 

Leonard. 
No. 



84 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Will you eat your lunch with me ? 

[He 7iods. She takes a powder-puff from her bag 
and, lookitig into the hand-mirror, hurriedly re- 
ifioves the traces of her tears. While she is thus 
occupied, Leonard listens at the nearer door 
on the right. 

Leonard. 
\Leaving the door — in a whisper.'] He's there. 

[Warren reappears. 

Warren. 
[To ZoE.] Mr. Mottram is in the next room, ma'am. 

ZOE. 

Thank you. [Warren withdraws. 

ZOE. 

[To Leonard, in a whisper, accompanying him to the 
glazed door.] Go into the Park and sit under the trees. 
Blow a kiss for me to all the kiddies. \^She watches him 
disappear down the corridor. Then, having closed the 
glazed door, she opens the further door on the right.] 
Peter ! 

Peter. 
[Out of sight.] My dear lady! 

Zoe. 
[Going into the next room.] Why on earth have they 
put you into this dismal room ! Come into the light. 
[Returning with him, her arm tucked through his.] Oh, 
my dear Peter — my dear Peter ! 

Peter. 
Ah, yes, yes, yes ! A nice way to serve a pal ! 



MID-CHANNEL 85 

ZOE. 

IC/osing^ the door.'\ How did you ? 

Peter. 
Jim Mallandain dropped in at the office this morning. 
{They leave the door.'] He traveled with you from Paris 
on Sunday. 

ZOE. 

I collided with him at the Gare du Nord. 

Peter. 
And this is Wednesday ! 

ZOE. 

{Withdrawing her arm.'] I funked sending for you; 
that's a fact. 

Peter. 
Funked it ? 

ZOE. 

[ With the air of a child in disgrace.] Your letters to me 
have been awfully sweet, but 1 know you despise me for 
making a muck of things. 

Peter. 
[Frotestingly.] Ah, Mrs. Zoe ! 

ZOE. 

And I'm rather a sick rabbit, Peter. [ Turning away.] 
A sick rabbit has only one desire — to hide in its burrow. 
[Facing hiin.] My heart bounded when you were an- 
nounced, though. 



88 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
[Following her.'] You don't look very fit. Seen a 
doctor? 

ZOE. 

I've let Lena call in Rashleigh, to humor her ; {sitting 
on the settee on the right] and I've promised to swallow 
his pig- wash. 

Peter. 
What's he say? 

ZOE. 

Chill ; but — [raising her eyes to his\ between our- 
selves ? 

Peter. 
Honor. 

ZOE. 

[ With quivering lips.] Life, dear old chum ! 

Peter. 
[Tenderly.] Ain't much in it ? 

ZOE. 

Dam little. [Putting her hair back from her drowJ] 
Phew ! Can't sleep, Peter. 

Peter. 
Oh, lor! 

ZOE. 

I tumble into bed at twelve — one — two. I get an hour's 
stupor, from sheer fatigue, and then I'm wide awake — 
thinking ! Then, dressing-gown and slippers and the 
cigarettes ; and then it's to and fro, up and down — smoke 



MID-CHANNEL 87 

— smoke — smoke — often till the servants start brushing 
the stairs. No game, eh ? 

Peter. 
How long has this ? 

ZOE. 

It began at — [checking herself^ oh, a devil of a while. 
\With a shiver.'\ But I'm worse now I've set foot again 
m this house. 

Peter. 
[Eyeing her keenly. '\ Ghosts? [Avoiding his gaze, she 
stretches out her hand toward the cigarette box. He pushes 
the box beyond her reach. She makes a grimace. There is 
a pause. ~\ Zoe 

ZOE. 

Well? 

Peter. 
[Deliberately.'] Why shouldn't you pick up the pieces ? 

Zoe. 
Pick up — the pieces ? 

Peter. 
You and Theodore. 

Zoe. 
Oh — don't be — funny, Peter. 

Peter. 
I'm not funny ; I'm as serious as the clown at the 
circus. [Another pause."] Write to him — or give me a 
message to take to him. See him. 

[She gets to her feet and attempts to pass Peter. 



88 MID-CHANNEL 

He detains her and she sinks back among her 
pilloivs. 

ZOE. 

Ha, ha ! You ridiculous man ! {Faintly^ Pick up the 
pieces ! As if that were possible ! 

Peter. 
Oh, the valuable family china is in a good many frag- 
ments, I admit. But there are the fragments, lyin' on 
the carpet. They can be collected, fitted together. 

ZOE. 

{With a sudden gesture of entreaty. "^ Ah, for God's 
sake, Peter ! 

Peter. 
Why, I'm suggestin' nothin' unusual. 

ZOE. 

[Repeating her gesture^ Sssh ! 

Peter. 
Go into the homes of three-fifths of the married people 
you know — / know — and you'll find some imposin' speci- 
mens of porcelain that won't bear inspectin' very nar- 
rowly. 

Zoe. 
[ Waving the subject away.'\ Sssh, sssh ! 

Peter. 
Only yesterday afternoon I was callin' at a house in — 
never mind the district. I was wanderin' round the 
drawin'-room, lookin' at the bric-a-brac, and there, on a 
Louis Quatorze console-table, were as handsome a pair 
of old Chinese jars— genuine Mings— as ever I've met 



MID-CHANNEL 89 

with. Such a sooperb glaze they've got, such depth o' 
color ! They appear to be priceless, perfect, till you ex- 
amine 'em closely ; and then ! My dear Zoe, they're 

cracked ; they've both had a nasty knock at some time 
or another ; they're scarred shockin'ly with rivets and 
cement. And while I was sheddin* tears over *em, in 
sailed madam, smihn' and holdin' out her hand to me — 
she'd been up-stairs, rubbin' carmine on her lips 

Zoe. 
[/« a murmur.'] You horror ! 

Peter. 
How kind of me to call — and how wild Tom 'ud be at 
missin' me ! To the casual observer, she's the happiest 
woman goin' ; and Tom, who strolled in just as I was 
leavin', might be the most domesticated of husbands. 
You follow me ? You grasp the poetic allegory ? Those 
faulty old Mings are emblematic of the estabhshment 
they adorn. Mr. and Mrs. Tom fell out years ago ; they 
turned against each other one fine day — in mid-Channel 
— and hadn't the sense to kiss and be friends on landin' ; 
their lives are as damaged as those wounded crocks of 
theirs on the console-table. [^Persuasively.'] Well, but 
ain't it wiser to repair the broken china, rather than 
chuck the bits into the dust-bin? It's still showy and 
effective at a distance ; and there are cases — rare, but 
they exist — where the mendin's been done so neatly that 
the flaws are almost imperceptible. [Seating himself op- 
posite Zoe.] Zoe 

Zoe. 
\Almost inaudibly.'\ Yes, Peter ? 

Peter. 
\Leaning forward^ I believe yours is one of the cases 
—yours and Theodore's — where the mendin' would be 
exceptionally successful. 



90 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

What do you — what do you mean ? 

Peter. 
My dear, old Theo is as miserable over this affair as 
you are. 

ZOE. 

[Aiiempting a disdainful smile.'\ N-nonsense ! 

Peter. 
Oh, no, it ain't nonsense. 

ZOE. 

W-what makes you think that ? 

Peter. 
Between ourselves ? 

ZOE. 

\A note of eagerness in her voice.'] Honor. 

Peter. 
He shows it in all manner o' ways. Neglects his busi- 
ness — ain't much good at it when he doesn't — is losin' 
his grip— looks confoundedly \\\—is ill. Altogether he's 
a different man from the man he was, even when matters 
were at boiUn' point here. 

Zoe. 

[^Locking and unlocking her fingers.'] Does he ever — 
speak of me ? 

Peter. 
Oh, lor', yes. 



MID-CHANNEL 91 

ZOE. 

N-not kindly ? 

Peter. 
Very. Very kindly. 

ZOE. 

[^Afier a silence, as if in pain.'] Oh ! [^She rises, 

passes him, and goes to the other side of the room where she 
moves from one piece of furniture to another aimlessly.] 
W-what's he say about me? 

Peter. 
{_Not turning.] Frets about you — wonders how you're 
gettin' along — wonders as to the state of your finances— 

can't bear the idea of your bein' in the least pinched 

wants to help you. 

ZOE. 

He's extremely generous ! 

Peter. 
Theo ? Never was anythin' else. 

Zoe. 

{Her eyes flashing.] His own expenses must be pretty 
considerable just now, too ! 

Peter. 

{Pricking up his ears.] Must they ? [ With great artless- 
ness.] Why ? 

Zoe. 
Oh, do you imagine I live with wool in my ears? 

Peter. 
[ Over his shoulder. ] Wool ? 



92 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

This woman he's continually with! [Peter's /a^^ m 
siiil averted from Zoe. At this juncture his eyes open 
widely and his mouth shapes to a whistle.'] This — Mrs. — 
Mrs. — what's her name — Annerly ! \_Pacing the room.] A 
notorious woman — a woman without a shred of character 
— an any-man's-woman ! 

Peter. 
[Settling his features and turning his chair toward ZOE 
— in a tone of expostulation.] Oh ! 

Zoe. 
A baby-faced thing — seven years younger than I am ! 
Precisely the class of goods a man of Theo's age flies at ! 

Peter. 
Oh— oh ! 

Zoe. 
They're rather costly articles, aren't they? 

Peter. 
My dear Mrs. Zoe 

Zoe. 
Oh, don't you pretend to be so innocent, Peter! You 
know jolly well he's all over the place with her. They 
were at Hurhngham together Saturday week. 

Peter. 
[Coolly.] I dessay. 

Zoe. 
And they dine tite-a-iUe at the Savoy, Ritz's, the Carl- 
ton 



MID-CHANNEL M 

Peter. 
Who supplies the information ? 

ZOE. 

They were at the Carlton last night. 

Peter. 
Who's told you i/iat? 

ZOE. 

L [SAe pulh herself up . 

Peter. 
lCurious/y.'\ Who? 

Zoe. 
{Moistening her lips.'] Oh, I— I first heard of it all 
from Jim Mallandain. He was full of it on board the 
boat on Sunday. 

Peter. 
IVas he ! {Rising lazily.] A busy gentleman — Jim. 

Zoe. 

It was Jim who met them at Hurlingham — had tea 
with *em. 

Peter. 

{Curiously again.] But it. can't be Jim who's blabbed 
about last night. 

Zoe. 
Why? 

Peter. 
{Shrugging his shoulders.] He happened to mention 
this mornin' that he was with a party at Jules'. 



94 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

]^Confused.^ N-no, it isn't from Jim I've got that. I — 
[throwing herself into the armchair near the glazed door.'] 
Oh, but really it's a matter of supreme indifference to me, 
Peter, my dear boy, whom Theodore entertains at the 
Carlton, or whom he entertains at his flat- 

Peter. 
[^Coming to her.] My dear Zoe 

ZOE. 

[^Laughing heartily.] Ha, ha, ha ! His flat ! I hear 
it's quite sumptuous. After his pathetic yearnings for 
peace and quiet in a garret, he sets up, within a month 
of our separating, in an enormous flat in Cavendish 
Square ! I received that bit of news when I was in Flor- 
ence. I — I was intensely amused. Oh, let him wallow 
in his precious flat ! 

Peter. 
[^Argumentatively.] My dear lady 

Zoe. 
l^Her hand to her brow, exhausted.] Ah, drop it, Peter ; 
drop it ! 

Peter. 
I ask you — a liberal-minded person — what *ud become 
of friendship as an institootion if men and women couldn't 
be pals without havin' the — the — what-d'ye-call-it — the 
tongue of scandal wagged at *em ? The world *ud be in- 
tolerable. It ain't all marmalade as it is ; but if a fellow 
can't take the fresh air in the company of a female at 
Hurlingham, or give her a bite o' food at a res- 
taurant 



MID-CHANNEL 95 



ZOE. 



IHer head against the back of her chair, her eyes closed. 'X 
Ah, la, la, la ! 

Peter. 

As for this — er — this Mrs. Annerly 

\He again purses his mouth and is evidently in a 
difficulty. 

ZOE. 

{Her eyes still shut.'] Well? 

Peter. 
It's true she chucked Annerly for another chap. I 
don't condone an act of that description — except that I 
knew Annerly, and if ever there was a dull dog 

ZOE. 

Was he duller than Theo? 

Peter. 
Oh, go on with yer ! And since then she's been a 
trifle— flighty— perhaps, now and again ; [with a gulp"] 
but to-day she might be your maiden aunt. 

ZOE. 

{Dreamily.'] You humbug, Peter ! 

Peter. 
{Sitting beside her, upon the fauteuil-stool.'] Oh, I'm not 
maintainin' that we men always select our women pals 
from the right basket. I'm not sayin* that we don't 
make asses of ourselves occasionally, sometimes from 
sentiment, sometimes from vanity, sometimes from — 
various causes. But the same remark applies to you 
women over your men-pals. {Laying a hand on her arm.] 
For instance — {she opens her eyes] for instance, here you 



96 MID-CHANNEL 

are, throwin' stones at old Theo with regard to Alice 
Annerly. {Significantly .'I My dear, there are a few 
panes o' glass in the house you live in, bear in mind. 

\_She sits upright, looking at him. 

ZOE. 

. In the house — I ? 

Peter. 
S^Gravelyr^ Mrs. Zoe, what you did when you were 
under your husband's protection is one thing ; what you 
do now is another bag o' nuts entirely. And a woman 
situated as you are ought to be careful of retainin' a cub 
among her intimates. 

Zoe. 
A cub? 

Peter. 
Cub. 

Zoe. 
\Af)prehensively,'\ To whom — are you alluding ? 

Peter. 
Lenny Ferris. 

Zoe. 
L — enny ? 

Peter. 
It ain't an agreeable job, pitchin* into a fellow you've 
been on good terms with ; but the fact remains — to put it 
mildly — that Master Lenny's a stoopid, blunderin' cub. 

Zoe. 
{^Haughtily but palpitatingly. '\ He's nothing of the 
kind. What has he done that you should abuse him ? 



MID-CHANNEL 97 

Peter. 
It's he who's told you that Theodore was at the Carl- 
ton last night, ain't it? [She drops her eyes. ~\ Been here 
this mornin' ? 

ZOE. 

[^Raising her eyes, boldly.'] Yes. 

Peter. 
H'm ! The sick rabbit doesn't hide in her burrow 
from everybody. 

ZOE. 

H— how ? 

Peter. 
I saw your lips make an L just now, before you could 
put the stopper on. 

ZOE. 

Ha, ha ! You ought to have been a professional detect- 
ive. 

Peter. 
[Scowling.'] Ferris has kept out of my way lately, or 

ZOE. 

If he has run in here for a moment — to ask whether 
I'm back — is there anything particularly cubbish in that? 

Peter. 
It wasn't that I was referrin' to. 

ZOE. 

N— no? 



98 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
I was referrin' to his havin' the damned presumption 
to dance attendance on you in Italy. 

ZOE. 

[Aghast.'^ I— Italy? 

Peter. 
He was at Perugia while you were there. 

ZOE. 

Oh — Perugia 

Peter. 
[ With a shrug.'] And other places, I assoom. 

Zoe. 
[After a pause, pulling herself together.] H— ho ! \mim' 
icking Peter.] And who supplies the information? 
[Peter waves the question from him.] Lowenstein, by 
any chance — Claud Lowenstein ? [Peter, looking down 
his nose, is silent. She rises and walks away from him.] 
The hound— the little hound ! 

Peter. 
Lowenstein came across you both at some railway 
station. He arrived at Perugia the day you left. 

Zoe. 
{Pacing the room on the right.] The contemptible little 
hound ! 

Peter. 
He put up at the Brufani too. 

Zoe. 
{Stopping in her walk — under her breath^ Ah ! 



MID-CHANNEL 99 

Peter. 
Master Lenny might at least have had the common 
decency to quarter himself at another hotel. 

ZOE. 

The — the Brufani is the most comfortable — the 

[A pause. '\ I — I suppose it was thoughtless of Lenny. 

Peter. 
IQuieiiy.'] Cub ! 

ZoE. 
[Approaching Peter.] Does — Theodore — know? 

Peter. 
[Nodding.'] Lowenstein went to him with it. 

Zoe. 
Ha, ha! A busy gentleman — Claudy Lowenstein! 
[Faiteringly .] It — it was all my fault, Peter. If — if any- 
body's to blame, I am. I — I wrote to the boy from Flor- 
ence — complaining of feehng lonely 

Peter. 
That doesn't excuse him. 

Zoe. 

[Touc king Vetkk's shoulder with the tips of her fingers^ 
What — what does Theodore ? 

Peter. 
He's savage. 

Zoe. 
Savage ? 



100 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
[^Rising.'] He'd like to punch Ferris's head — as I 
should. 

ZOE. 

[/« a low voice.'] Savage ! \Siowly.'] He — he's 

jealous, then? [_A shrug from Peter. Her eyes light up^ 
Jealous! \A pause.'] Peter — no man's jealous over a 
woman — unless he — unless he cares for her ! [^Plucking 
at his sleeve.] Peter ! 

Peter. 
You've heard me say old Theo's miserable — desper- 
ately wretched. 

ZOE. 

He — he's grown fond of me again — fond of me ! 

Peter. 
My dear, you and he have never left ofif bein* fond o* 
one another, actually. As I warned you, you've only 
been tossin' about, both of you, on a bit o' troubled 
water. 

[She stares at him for a moment with an expres- 
sionless face and then, as if stupefied, seats her- 
self in the chair on the left of the oblong table. 

Peter. 
{Standing before her.] Well, at any rate, you'll let this 
Italian business be a lesson to you not to rush at conclu- 
sions respectin' other people. So, come now ; won't you 
try to patch it up? I'll bet my noo hat, Theodore'll meet 
you half-way. [Urgently.] Zoe ! 

Zoe. 
[Locking and unlocking her fingers again.] Peter 



MID-CHANNEL 101 

Peter. 
Eh? 

ZOE. 

Your Mr. and Mrs. Tom — the world perhaps never 
heard of their fall-out. 

Peter. 
What o' that ? 

Zoe. 
Everybody is aware of the spUt between me and Theo. 

Peter. 
Everybody ! A handful ! Besides, nothin' is even a 
nine days' wonder in these times. [A pause. '\ Will you 
do it? 

Zoe. 
[Suddenly, starting up and walking away to the left.'\ 
Oh, no, no, no! I can't — I can't! 

Peter. 
{Following her. ] Can't? 

Zoe. 

[Helplessly :\ I can't, Peter ! 

Peter. 
[Taking her by the arms.'] Oh ! 

Zoe. 

I — I mean I — I'm sure it wouldn't answer — I'm 
sure 

Peter. 
My dear girl 



108 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

[Piteously.~\ Ah, don't — don't! \_Esc aping from him 
and crossing to the right. '\ Oh, leave me alone ! 

[Warren enters at the glazed door. 

Warren. 
\To ZoE.] Miss Pierpoint is down-stairs, ma'am. 

ZOE. 

\Seizing upon the interruption^ Ah, yes ! 

Warren. 
I'm to give you her love, ma'am, and if it isn't con- 
venient for you to see her 

Zoe. 
It is — it is — quite convenient — quite. [Warren with- 
draws, closing the door.'] I'm awfully sorry, my dear 
Peter, but this child wants to consult me about something 
— something important. [^Giving him her hands.] I must 
kick you out. You don't feel hurt, do you? 

Peter. 
{Ruefully.] Confound Miss Pierpoint ! Zee 

Zoe. 
What? 

Peter. 
You'll think it over ? 

Zoe. 
{^Putting her hand to his lips.] Ah ! 

Peter. 
[^Holding her hand.] No, no. Think it over. Ask me 
to dine with you one night next week. 



MID-CHANNEL 103 

ZOE. 

Monday — Tuesday ? 

Peter. 
Monday. 

ZOE. 

lAr^/u//y.'] Ah, but I shall lay in a chaperon for the 
occasion. 

Peter. 
Rats ! How can I talk to you before a chaperon ? 

ZOE. 

Ha, ha, ha, ha ! \^S/ie runs to the glazed door, opens it, 
and, going into the corridor, calls loudly and excitedly. \ 
Ethel — Ethel — Ethel ! [Ethel appears in the cor- 
ridor and ZoE embraces her with an excess of war7nth.~\ M y 
dear Ethel! My dear child! \^They kiss.'] What ages 
since we've seen each other! \_Bringing Ethel into the 
room.] You know Mr. Mottram ? 

Ethel. 
[^Going to Peter.] Oh, yes. 



^Shaking hands with her.] How-d'ye-do, Miss Pier- 
int — and < 



Peter. 
ith 
point — and au revoir. 

Ethel. 

[As he moves toward the glazed door^ I'm not driving 
you away ? 

Peter. 
I forgive you. 

\He rejoins Zoe, who is near the door. Ethel 
lays her sunshade upon the writing-table. 



104 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

[Zb Peter.] Monday night? 

Peter. 
Monday night. 

ZOE. 

Half-past eight. 

Peter. 
\^At the door, dropping his voice. '\ A chaperon ? 

ZOE. 

[Mockingly.'] The proprieties ! 

Peter. 
You cat! [He goes. 

Zoe. 

[Closing the door."] Ha, ha ! [She leans wearily against 
the door for a moment and again puts back her hair from 
her brow. Her manner now becomes strained, artificial, 
distrait. She advances to Ethel,] Now, then ! [Ethel 
turns to her.'] Let me have a good squint at you. How's 
your dear mother? 

Ethel. 
[Who is pale and sad-looking.] Mother's flourishing. 
[Leaving the writing- table.] You're not angry with me 
for rushing you at this hour ? 

Zoe. 
Isn't this our old hour for a chat ? 

Ethel. 
We were at Madame Levine's yesterday — mother and 
I — ordering frocks, and Camille, the skirtmaker, told us 
you were back. Zoe, how unkind you've been ! 



MID-CHANNEL 105 

ZOE. 

Am I in your bad books ? 

Ethel. 
Why have you treated us so horridly ? 

ZOE. 

Well, my dear child, the fact is — the fact is it sud- 
denly dawned on me that perhaps your mother mightn't 
consider me any longer a suitable pal for her daughter. 

Ethel. 
IProiesiingiy.'] Ohl 

ZOE. 

Heaps of folks, you know, haven't much use for single 
married women. 

Ethel. 
But we both showed you that our sympathies were on 
your side ! 

ZOE. 

Yes, we often sympathize with people we wouldn't 
touch with the end of a wet umbrella. 

Ethel. 
[^Coming close to ZoE.] So that's the reason you left off 
answering my letters ! 

ZOE. 

C-certainly. 

Ethel. 
And why we hear of your return through fat old 
Camille ! [Fingering a jewel at Zoe's neck.'\ You've 
had a pleasant time abroad ? 



106 MID-CHANNEL 

ZoE. 
\Taking Ethel's face beiiveen her hands, abruptly^ 
How thin your face is, Ethel ! 

Ethel. 
{Gazing at Zoe.] Your cheeks are not as round as 
they were. 

Zoe. 
{Leading Ethel to the settee on the righi^ I caught a 
rotten chill on board the boat and have been beastly 
seedy. {Putting Ethel on the settee^ What's wrong 
with you? That's a dreary note I've had from you this 
morning. 

Ethel. 
{Tracing a pattern on the fioor with the point of her 
ihoe.'\ Now I'm with you, I — 1 can't 

Zoe. 
{Looking down upon her.'] You want advice, you say. 

Ethel. 
{Tremuhusly.] Yes. 

Zoe. 
Or a good shaking. 

Ethel. 
I— I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself for be- 
ing so, but I — I'm very unhappy, Zoe, 

Zoe. 
Unhappy? 

Ethel. 
It's no use my attempting to talk to mother. Mother's 
a person who prides herself on her level-headedness. 



MID-CHANNEL 107 

Anybody with a fixed income and a poor circulation can 
be level-headed ! It only means you're fish-like. But 
you — you're warm-blooded and human 

ZOE. 

^Well? 

Ethel. 
Z-Zoe 

ZOE. 

Yes? 

Ethel. 
\^Her eyes on the ground.'\ Did you ever suspect that 
there was anything between Mr. Ferris and me ? 

ZOE. 

\Calmly, steadying herself. "l Mr. Ferris — and you? 

Ethel. 
An attachment. 

ZOE. 

[ With affected astonishment. '\ My dear child ! 

Ethel. 
\Looking up.'\ Oh, don't keep on calling me " child " ! 
I'm nearly six-and-twenty. {Taking Zo^'s hands. '\ Didnt 
you ever guess ? 

ZOE. 

He — he always seemed delighted to meet you here. 

Ethel. 
He's one of your "boys" — hasn't he ever talked to 

you about me? 



,108 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Of course, frequently. 

Ethel. 
Never as if he were — in love with me ? 

ZOE. 

[^Withdrawing her handsel I— I can't say that it- 
struck me 

Ethel. 
{Dejectedly^ You didn't know, perhaps, that at the 
beginning of the year — before you went away — he was a 
great deal in Sloane Street ? 

Zoe. 
Why, yes, he used to have tea with you and your 
mother sometimes, didn't he? [Turning from Ethel.] 
How did I hear that? 

Ethel. 
[Hanging her headJ] Very often he came early in the 
afternoon — by arrangement with me — while mother was 
resting. 

Zoe. 
[ With a hard laugh.'] Ha, ha ! Ethel ! 

Ethel. 
Yes, worthy of a vulgar shop-girl, wasn't it ? 

Zoe. 
[Sitting in the chair opposite Ethel.] He— he came 
early in the afternoon ? 

Ethel. 
And we sat together, in the firelight. I'm sure he 
loved me, Zoe — then. 



MID-CHANNEL 100 

ZOE. 

{^Breathing heavily. '\ And— andj/^« ? 

Ethel. 
\Her elbows on her knees, hiding her face in her hands.'] 
Oh, I'm a fool — an awful fool ! 

ZOE. 

[After a silence.] Did he ever— hint — at marriage? 
[Ethel nods, without uncovering her face.] He did ! 

Ethel. 
[^Raising her head.] Well, we got as far as agreeing 
that a small house in the country, near his aunt, would 
be an ideal state of existence. [Mirthlessly.] Ha, ha, ha ! 
And there matters broke off. 

ZOE. 

What— what ? 

Ethel. 
All of a sudden there was a change — a change in his 
manner toward me. He still called on us, but not so 
regularly ; and by degrees his visits — ceased altogether. 
[She passes her hand across her eyes angrily and, stamp- 
ing her foot, rises and moves to the other side of the room.] 
The last time I spoke to him was one morning in the 
Row. Mother and I were walking and we came face to 
face with him. That was at the end of February. He 
was out of sorts, he said, and was going into Devonshire. 
I presume he went. [Turning to Zoe who, with parted 
lips, is staring guiltily at the carpet.] He's in London 
now, though. I saw him about a fortnight ago, at the 
Opera. I was with the Ormerods, in their box ; he was 
in the stalls. [Touching Zo^ ^ shoulder.] Zoe 



no . MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Yes? 

Ethel. 
He's so altered. 

ZOE. 

Altered ? 

Ethel. 
In his appearance. You recollect how boyish and 
fresh-looking he was ? 

ZOE. 

Y-yes. 

Ethel. 
All that's gone. He's become— oh, but I dare say 
you've seen him since you've been home ? 

ZOE. 

J-just for a minute or two. 

Ethel. 
You must have noticed ? 

ZOE. 

N-now you mention it 

Ethel. 
I watched him through the opera-glass several times 
during the evening. [Simply.'] He looks like a lost soul. 

ZOE. 

I — I've never — ha, ha! — I've never made the ac- 
quaintance of a lost — ha, ha! 



MID-CHANNEL 111 



Ethel. 



\^After a pause.'] Zoe, do you think anything has hap- 
pened to Lenny Ferris ? 



H-happened ? 
Anything bad. 
Bad? 



Zoe. 

Ethel. 

Zoe. 



Ethel. 
Men's lives are constantly being wrecked by racing, or 

cards, or \_Half turning from Zoe.] Oh, I oughtn't 

to know about such things, but one doesn't Hve in the 
dark — he may have got mixed up with some woman of 
the wrong sort, mayn't he? 

Zoe. 
\Rising quickly and walking away to the left.] I — I 
really can't discuss topics of that kind with you, Ethel. 

Ethel. 
[ Wistfully.] No ; but if he is in any scrape — any en- 
tanglement — and one could help him 

Zoe. 
{At the writing-table, taking up a bottle of salts— faintly^ 
Help him ? 

Ethel. 
Save him ! 

Zoe. 
{Sniffing the salts.] How — how romantic you arc I 



112 MID-CHANNEL 

Ethel. 
Am I ! l//gr elbows on the back of the armchair by the 
oblong table, timidly J] Zoe, would it be possible — in your 
opinion — would it be possible for me to — to see him ? 

Zoe. 
{Sitting in the chair at the writing-table.'] See Mr. 
Ferris ? 

Ethel. 
[Plucking at the cover of the chair on which she is leaiu 
ing.] Here — in your house — or elsewhere — see him and 
offer him my friendship — a sister' s friendship ? You could 
manage it. 

Zoe. 
My — my dear ! 

Ethel. 
Oh, yes, Tm lacking in dignity, aren't I — and self- 
respect ! [^Coming forward.'] I've told myself that a 
thousand times. [Warmly.] But there are quite enough 
dignified people in the world without me ; and if I could 
influence Lenny, any one might have my dignity for two- 
pence. 

Zoe. 
Influence him ? 

Ethel. 
For his good. Oh, I don't want to boast, but I'm a 
straight, clean girl ; and it may be that, at this particular 
moment of his life, the more he sees of women like you 
and me the better. However, if you tell me the idea's 
improper, I'll accept it from you. {Approaching Zoe.] 
I'll take anything from you. {Appealingly^ But don't 
tell me that, if you can avoid it. Give me the oppor- 



MID-CHANNEL 113 

tunity, if you can, of showing him that I'm different from 
most girls — that I'm above petty, resentful feehngs. 

\jBending over Zoe.] Zoe 

[Lena enters at the further door on the right, ear- 
ly ing a silver salver on which are a dose of 
medicine in a medicine-glass and a dish of 
sweetmeats. 

Lena. 
Your med'cine! {Closing the door.'] Good-morning, 
Miss Pierpoint. 

Ethel. 
Ah, Lena ! 

Zoe. 

{To Ethel, rising hastily.'] Excuse me 

[Lena advances and Zoe goes to her and, with a 
shaking hand, drinks the medicine. 

Lena. 
{To Zoe.] Good gracious, how queer you look ! {To 
Ethel.] She's doing too much to-day, Miss Pierpoint. 
{Going to Ethel.] Dr. Rashleigh says she's frightfully 
below par. 

Ethel. 
{Picking up her sunshade.] What a shame of me ! 
{Running to Zoe.] I won't stay another minute. 

Zoe. 

{Sitting on the settee on the right.] I am a, little fa- 
tigued. 

Ethel. 
I ought to have seen it. 



114 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

I — I'll write to you. \_They kiss."] My love to your 
mother. 

Ethel. 
And when you are well enough ? 

ZOE. 

I'll call upon her. 

Ethel. 
\To Lena, who precedes her into the corridor. "^ No, no ; 

stop with Mrs. Blundell. I'm so sorry, Lena 

[Lena and Ethel talk together for a little while 
in undertones ; then the girl disappears. Lena 
returns. 

Lena. 
{Shutting the door.] Silly chatterbox ! {Finding Zoe 
lying at full length upon the settee, her head buried in a 
pillow.'] Why do you tire yourself like this? Shall I 
fetch you some brandy ? 

Zoe. 
No. 

Lena. 
{Lowering her voice.] He's in the house again. 

Zoe. 
Who? 

Lena. 

Mr. Ferris. 

Zoe. 
[Raising herself] Mr. Ferris! 



MID-CHANNEL 115 

Lena. 
[ Wtih a jerk of her head in the direction of the next 
room.'] In there. [Zoe sits upright.'] Warren's making 
himself beautiful and Clara answered the door. She 
thought you were by yourself and let him come up. [Zoe 
gets to her feet.] I was just bringing you your med'cine 
and met him. [Zoe goes to the writing-table, takes up the 
hand-mirror, arid puts her hair in order.] Lucky I'd heard 
that Miss Pierpoint was here ; he didn't want to see her! 
Another second ! 

Zoe. 
That'll do. {Calmly.] Take care I'm not interrupted 
again. 

Lena. 
Ah, now ! Mayn't I get rid of him ? 

Zoe. 
No. \Turning.] Run away, please. 

Lena. 
Oh, very good. {Picking up the salver which she has 
placed upon a piece of furniture near the glazed door.] 
You'll do exactly as you choose. [In the corridor.] I de- 
clare I'd rather look after a pack of unruly children any 

day in the week 

\She closes the door. Zoe glances over her shoul- 
der, to assure herself that the woman has left 
the roofn, and then, with a fierce light in her 
eyes, goes to the nearer door on the right and 
throws it open. 

Zoe. 

\In a hard voice, speaking into the adjoining room.] 
I'm alone. 

{She moves from the door as Leonard, still carry- 
ing his hat and cane, enters. 



116 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
By George, that was a narrow squeak! \_Closing the 
door.'] Whatever possessed you to be at home to the 
Pierpoint girl this morning ? 

ZOE. 

{^Coidly.'] I didn't expect you back before lunch. 

Leonard. 
[Putting his hat and cane on the chair at the nearer end 
of the settee on the right.] I was talking to a man at Vic- 
toria Gate and I saw Peter driving away in a Taxi. 
\Facing her.] I got sick of the Park. \Seeing that some- 
thing is amiss.] Hallo ! \A paused] Any one been run- 
ning me down ? 

\She advances to him and, drawing herself to her 
full height, regards him scornfully, 

ZOE. 

[Making a motion with her hands as if she would strike 

him.] You — you ! [Dropping her hands to her side.] 

Oh, cruel — cruel — [walking away from him] cruel! 

Leonard. 
What's cruel? Who's cruel? 

ZOE. 

[At the further end of the room, on (he right.] Ah — 
ah ! 

Leonard. 
[Moving to the left.] Oh, come ! Let's have it out ; 
let s have it out. 

ZOE. 

Sssh ! Don't raise your voice here. 



MID-CHANNEL 117 

Leonard. 
Somebody's been talking against me. Ethel Pier- 
point ? 

ZOE. 

{Coming to the oblong table.'] You've behaved abomi- 
nably to this girl. 

Leonard. 
Ho, it is Miss Pierpoint ! 

ZOE. 

No, she hasn't spoken a word against you. But she's 
opened her heart to me. 

Leonard. 
{Going to ZoE.] You've known all about me and 
Ethel. 

ZOE. 

It's a lie. How much have I known? I knew that 
you were sizing her up, as you expressed it ; but I never 
surmised that you'd as good as proposed marriage to her. 

Leonard. 
I told you months ago — admitted it — that I'd made 
myself a bit of an idiot over Ethel. I fancied you 
tumbled to the state o' things. 

ZOE. 

Did you ! Why, do you think — maniac as I was when 
you came through to me to Florence ! — do you think I'd 
have allowed you to remain near me for five minutes if 
I'd known as much as I do now ! 

Leonard. 
Look here, Zoe 



118 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Oh, you're a cruel fellow ! You've been cruel to her 
and cruel to me. I believe you're capable of being cruel 
to any woman who comes your way. Still, shes the for- 
tunate one. Her scratches' 11 heal; but I [sitting at the 
oblong table and hitting it with her fist^ I loathe myself 
more than ever — more than ever ! 

Leonard. 

\After a pause.^ Zoe, I wish you'd try to be a little 
fair to me. 

Zoe. 
[^Ironically.'] Fair! 

Leonard. 
Perhaps I did go rather further with Ethel Pierpoint 
than I led you to understand. 

Zoe. 
Oh ! 

Leonard. 
I own up. Yes, but what prospect was there, when I 
was thick with her, of your being free of Blundell? 
None. And what was I to you ? Merely a pal of yours 
— one of your " tame robins " — one of a dozen ; and I'd 
come to a loose end in my Ufe. It was simply the fact 
that there was no prospect for me with you that drove me 
to consider whether I hadn't better settle down to a hum- 
drum with a decent girl of the Ethel breed. Otherwise, 
do you imagine I'd have crossed the street to speak to 
another woman ? [Leaving Zoe.] Oh, you might do me 
common justice ! [Hotly.'] If circumstances have made 
a cad of me, am I all black? Can't you find any good 
in me ? [ Turning to her.] What did I tell you at Perugia? 



MID-CHANNEL 119 

ZOE. 

[Rising.^ Ah, don't ! 

Leonard. 
That I'd been in love with you from the day I first met 
you — from the very moment Mrs. Hope-Cornish intro- 
duced me to you at Sandown ! Well ! Isn't there any- 
thing to my credit on that score? Didn t I keep my 
secret ? For four years I kept it ; though, with matters 
as they often were between you and Blundell, many a 
man might have thought you ripe grapes. [ Walking across 
to the right.'] Only once I was off my guard with you — 
when I laid hold of you and begged you, whatever hap- 
pened, never to — never to 

ZOE. 

[Leaning against the table, her back to him.] Ha, ha, 
ha ! 

Leonard. 
Yes, and I meant it ; as God hears me, I meant it. 
If anybody had told me that afternoon that it was I who 
— oh, hang ! \Sitiing upon the settee.] But what I want to 
impress upon you is that, if I were quite the low scoundrel 
you make me out to be, I shouldn't have gone through 
what I /^«z/<? gone through these past four years and more. 
Great Scot, it's been nothing but hell — hot hell — all the 
time ! Four whole years of pretending I was just an or- 
dinary friend of yours — hell ! Four years of reasoning 
with myself — preaching to myself — hell ! That awful 
month after Blundell left you — when you'd gone to Italy 
and I was in London — worse than hell ! My chase after 
you — our little tour together — my struggle even then to 
play the correct game — and I did struggle — hell ! And 
since then — hell ! \His elbows on his knees, digging his 
knuckles into his forehead.] Hell all the time ! Hell all 
the time ! 



120 MID-CHANNEL 

[There is a silence, and then, with a look of set' 
tied determination, she comes to him slowly and 
lays her hands upon his head. 

ZOE. 

Poor boy ! I'm sorry I blackguarded you. {Sitting in 
the chair opposite to him and speaking in a steady, level 
voice ^ Len 

Leonard. 
Eh? 

ZOE. 

Let's part. 

Leonard. 
[Raising his head."] Part ? 

ZOE. 

Say good-bye to each other. [Meeting his eyesJ] Go 
back to that girl. 

Leonard. 
To Ethel ! 

ZOE. 

Take up with her again. 

Leonard. 
Oh, stop it, Zo. 

ZOE. 

She's devoted to you ; and she's sound right through, 
if ever a girl was. She's one of the best, Len. 

Leonard. 
Suppose she is 



MID-CHANNEL 121 

ZoE. 
Be careful that she doesn't guess I've given her away. 
l//g rises impatiently. She rises with him and holds him by 
the lapis of his jacket.'] Tell her— she's sure to ask you— 
tell her that you haven't seen me since last Monday, nor 
had a line from me. Fake up some tale to account for 
your breaking off with her — you were in doubt whether 
you'd coin enough to marry on 

Leonard. 
[ Who has become thoughtful.'] Zoe 

ZOE. 

Yes? 

Leonard. 
{Looking her full in the face.] Are you giving me the 
boot ? 

Zoe. 
{Releasing him and returning his gaze firmly.] Yes ; 
I am. 

Leonard. 
{After' a pause.] Oh? {Another pause.] What's your 
motive ? 

Zoe. 
Motive ? 

Leonard. 
What's behind all this? 

Zoe. 
{Simply^ I want you to be happy, Len— really and 
truly happy, I believe you'd stand a jolly good chance 
of being so with Ethel Pierpoint ; never with me. 



122 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
And you f 

ZOE. 

I? 

Leonard. 
What's to become of you ? What are your plans for 
yourself? 

ZOE. 

[Avoiding his eyes.'\ Oh, don't you — don't you worry 
about me. 

Leonard. 
Rot! 

ZOE. 

\_Nervously.'] Perhaps some day — when Theodore's 
tired of Mrs. Annerly— ha, ha !— stranger things have 
happened 

Leonard. 
Rot, I say. [She retreats a little.'] Do you think you can 
drum me out like this ! [Following her.] Have you got 
some other ? \_J^e checks himself. 

ZOE. 

[Confronting hifn.] Some other ? 

Leonard. 
Oh, never mind. 

Zoe. 
Out with it ! 

Leonard. 
Some other fancv-man in tow ? 



MID-CHANNEL 123 

ZOE. 

Ah! You brute! [^Hitting him in the chest.'] You 
brute ! [ Throwing herself into the armchair near the 
glazed door.'] You coward ! You coward ! 

[Jhere is a pause and then he slouches up to her. 

Leonard. 
I — I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon. \He sits 
beside her, upon the fauteuil-stool.] Knock my damned 
head off. Go on. Knock my damned head off. 

ZOE. 

{Panting^ Well — we won't part — on top of a row. 
\Dashing a tear away.] After all, why should you think 
better of me than that ? 

Leonard. 
[Penitently.] Zoe 

ZOE. 

Sssh ! Listen. Putting Ethel Pierpoint out of the 
question, do you ever picture to yourself what our mar- 
ried life would be ? 

Leonard. 
What it 'ud be? 

Zoe. 
The marriage of a woman of seven — nearly eight — 
and-thirty to a man of thirty-two ! /do. I walk my 
bedroom half the night and act it all over to myself. 
And you've had the best of me, too ; I'm not even a 
novelty to you. Why, of course you've realized what 
you've let yourself in for. 

Leonard. 
I take my oath 



124 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Sssh ! When you're in front of your glass in the morn- 
ing, what do you see there ? 

Leonard. 
See? 

ZOE. 

This girl has noticed the alteration in your looks. She 
took stock of you at the opera the other night. 

Leonard. 
{^Passing his hands over his face consciously. '\ Men 
can't go to hell, Zo, without getting a bit scorched. 

ZOE. 

{Imitating his action.'] No, nor women either. [7«f»- 
ing to him.] But it's only quite lately that you've lost 
your bloom, Len. 

Leonard. 
Oh, naturally I've been horribly bothered about you — 
about both of us — since 

ZOE. 

Since your trip to Italy ? \^He nods.] Yes, and natu- 
rally you've told yourself, over and over again, the truth 
— since your trip to Italy. 

Leonard. 
Truth? 

Zoe. 
The simple truth — that you've got into a mess with a 
married woman 

Leonard. 
I— I 



MID-CHANNEL 125 

ZOE. 

And that you must go through with it, at all costs. 

Leonard. 
I swear to you, Zoe 

ZoE. 
[Touching his hand.'] Oh, my dear boy, you haven't 
perhaps said these things to yourself, in so many words, 
but they're at the back of your brain just the same. 

[She rises and crosses to the fireplace and rings 
three times. 

Leonard. 
[Rising^ What — what are you doing ? 

Zoe. 

Ringing for Lena, to tell her I'm not lunching down- 
stairs. 

Leonard. 

By God, Zoe ! 

Zoe. 

[Imperiously.] Be quiet ! 

Leonard. 
[Shaking his fist at her.] You dare treat me in this 
way ! You dare ! 

Zoe. 
[Advancing.] Ah, I'm only hurting your pride a little ; 
I'm only mortifying your vanity. You'll get over that in 
twenty -four hours. 

Leonard. 
Do you know what you are / do you know what you 
make yourself by this! 



126 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Yes, what you made of me at Perugia, and at Siena, 

and at ! [Suddenly, clinging to him.'\ Lenny — Lenny 

— kiss me ! 

Leonard. 
[Pushing her from him.'\ Not \. 

ZOE. 

Ah, yes. Don't let's part enemies. It's good-bye. 
Lenny ! 

Leonard. 
No. 

ZOE. 

[Struggling with him entreating lyJ] Quick! It's for 

the last time. You'll never be alone with me again. 

'Her arms tightly round him."] It's for the last time. 

'Kissing him passionately.'] Good luck to you ! Good 

uck to you ! Good luck to you ! 

[She leaves him and sits at the writing-table where 
she makes a pretence of busying herself with her 
papers. 

Leonard. 
[Glancing expectantly at the glazed door— between his 

teeth.'] You — you ! 

[Presently he goes to the chair on the right and 
snatches up his hat and cane, LENA enters at 
the glazed door. 

Lena. 
[To ZoE.] Is it me you've rung for? 

ZOE. 

Yes. [Sharplyr] Wait. 



MID-CHANNEL 127 

[There is a pause. Struck by Zoe's tone, and the 
attitude of the pair, Lena looks inquisitively at 
Leonard and Zoe out of the corners of her 
eyes, as if she guesses there has been a quarrel. 
Leonard moves toward the door. 

Leonard. 
\To Zoe.] Good-morning. 

Zoe. 
Good-morning. 

Leonard. 
\To Lena, as he passes her.'] Good-morning. 

Lena. 
Good-morning. 

[//e departs and Lena quietly closes the door. 

Zoe. 
\Rising.'\ Lena 

Lena. 
Yes? 

Zoe. 

[ Walking across to the settee on the right.] I'm not com- 
ing down to the dining-room. [Sitting, feebly.] Let me 
have a snack up-stairs. 

Lena. 
Very well. 

Zoe. 

That's all. 

[Lena withdraws, almost on tiptoe, and Zoe in- 
stantly produces her handkerchief and cnes into 
it softly. Then she gets to her feet and searches 



128 MID-CHANNEL 

for ike cigarette box. Still shaken dy little sobs, 
she puts a cigarette between her lips and, as she 
does so, the expression of her face changes and 
her body stiffens. 

ZOE. 

\JJnder her breath. '\ Oh ! \_After a momenf s ir- 
resolution, she hurriedly dries her eyes and, going to the 
glazed door, opens it, and calls. '\ Lena — Lena I 

Lena. 
[/« the distance^ Yes? 

[ZoE returns to the oblong table and is lighting her 
cigarette when Lena reappears. 

ZOE. 

Lena 

Lena. 
Well? 

ZOE. 

I'll dress directly after lunch. 

Lena. 
[^Coming to her, surprised.'] Dress ? 

ZOE. 

Yes; I'm going out this afternoon. 

Lena. 
Going out ! Why, you must be crazy ! 



END OF THE SECOND ACT 



THE THIRD ACT 

The scene is a fine y spacious roonty richly furnished and dec- 
orated. In the centre of the wall at the back is the 
fireplace, and on the left of the fireplace is a door which 
when open reveals part of a dini?ig-room. In the right- 
hand wall there is a bay-window hung with lace and 
other curtains. Facing the window , in the wall on the 
lefty is a double- door opening into the room from a cor- 
ridor. 

On either side of the fireplace there is an armchair y and 
between the fireplace and the dining-room door stands a 
small table on which are a decanter of whiskery a syphon 
of soda-watery and two or three tumblers. A grand 
piano and a music-stool are in the right-hand corner of 
the roomy and on the left of the piano is a settee. Some 
photographs are on the top of the piano. On the other 
side of the room there is a second settee with a table at 
the nearer end of it. An armchair stands by this table, 
another at the further end of the settee. In the bay- 
window there is a writing-table with a writing-chair 
before it, and on the writing-table is a telephone-instru- 
ment. Other articles of furniture y some pieces of sculp- 
ture, and some handsome lamps on pedestals, fill spaces 
not provided for in this description, 

A scarf of mousseline de sole and a pair of white gloves lie 
on the chair on the right of the fireplace. 

The fireless grate is hidden by a screen andy through the 
lace curtains y which are drawn over the window y a fierce 
sunlight is seen, 

129 



130 MID-CHANNEL 

The door at the back is slightly ajar. 

[The telephone bell rings and presently TliKOTiOKB. 
Blundell enters at the door at the back, 
and goes to the writing-table. His step has be- 
come heavier, his shoulders are somewhat bent, 
and he looks a ' • bad color." 

Theodore. 
[At the telephone. 1 Halloo ! . . . Yes 1 . . . \ am 
Mr. Blundell. ... Oh, is that you, Peter? . . . 
What? . . . Want to see me ? . . . Anything wrong? 
. . . Where are you ? . . . Where ? . . . Cafe 
Royal? . . . Come along to me now, then ? . . . Oh, 
I say ! . . . Are you there ? . . . [Dropping his voice. 1^ 
I say ! Mrs. A. is lunching with me. . . . Mrs. A. — 
Alice. . . . No, but I thought I'd tell you. . . . 
Good-bye. 

[He is about to return to the dining-room when 
Mrs. Annerly appears in the doorway at the 
back. She is a pretty, charmingly-dressed crea- 
ture with classical, immobile features and a sim- 
ple, virginal air. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Advancing. ~\ I've told Cole we'll have coffee in this 
room. [He nods and sits moodily upon the settee on the 
right. Resting her elbows on the back of the armchair at 
the further end of the settee on the left, she surveys her face 
in a tiny mirror which she carries, with some other trinkets, 
attached to a chain.'] Who' s that you were talking to on the 
'phone, boy dear ? 

Theodore. 
[ Who is smoking a big cigar. 1 Mottram. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
What's he want? 



MID-CHANNEL 131 

Theodore. 
Wants to see me about something. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Business ? 

Theodore. 
Dun'no. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Sweetly. '\ He doesn't like poor little me. 

Theodore. 
[Indifferently.'] Doesn't he ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
You know he doesn't. [Arranging a curl.'] That's 
why you gave him the tip that I'm lunching here. 

Theodore. 
Ho ! Listeners — et ccetera. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
I couldn't help hearing you ; positively I couldn't. 
[Examining her teeth in the mirror.] He's one of your 
wife's tame cats, isn't he ? 

Theodore. 
He's a friend of hers — yes. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Just a friend, and nothing else. 

Theodore. 

[Angrily.] Now, look here, Alice ! 

[Cole, a man servant, enters from the dining- 
room with the coffee and liqueurs. Mrs. An- 
nerly takes a cup of coffee. 



132 MID-CHANNEL 

Cole. 
\To Mrs. Annerly.] Brandy — Kummel, ma'am? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
No, thanks. 

Theodore. 
[To Cole, who comes to him with the tray — irritably.'] 
Leave it. [Cole places the tray on the top of the piano 
and is returning to the dining-room.'] Cole 

Cole. 
Yessir ? 

Theodore. 
I'm expecting Mr. Mottiam. 

Cole. 

Very good, sir. 

\The man withdraws, closing the door. Theo- 
dore rises and pours some brandy into a large 
liqueur-glass. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
\Who has seated herself upon the settee on the left.] 
What's the matter with you to-day, boy dear? You're 
as cross as two sticks. 

Theodore. 
Liver. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Sipping her coffee.] I don't wonder. 

Theodore. 
Why? 



MID-CHANNEL 133 

Mrs. Annerly. 
You're getting rather too fond of — \_pointing to the 
brandy] h'm, h'm. 

Theodore. 
[B/unt/y.} It's false. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[JVz'th undisturbed complacency.'] I've seen so much of 
that sort o' thing in my time. \_He makes a movement, as 
if to put down his glass without drinking.] Still, I must 
say you've every excuse. 

Theodore. 
Alice 

Mrs. Annerly. 
What? 

\_He gulps his brandy, puts the empty glass on the 
tray, and comes to her. 

Theodore. 
{Standing before her.] Alice, will you oblige me by 
refraining from making any allusion to my wife, direct 
or indirect, in the future ? It annoys me. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Everything annoys you this afternoon. 

Theodore. 

You were at it last night, at the Carlton. And to-day, 
during lunch 

Mrs. Annerly. 
\_In an injured tone.] It was you who told me that that 
little Jew chap had met her careering about Italy with 
young what's-his-name. \He sits in the armchair at the 



134 MID-CHANNEL 

further end of the settee and leans his head on his hand.'} 
Ah, but that was in your loving days — when you used to 
confide in me. 

Theodore. 
I was in a rage and said a great deal more than 1 
thought. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
If you did, you needn't jump on me for trying to feel 
interested in you and your affairs. 

Theodore. 
[Facing- her.} At any rate, understand me clearly, 
Alice — and then drop the subject. [Short/y.} Mrs. Blun- 
dell and I are separated ; she's gone one way, I another. 
There were faults on both sides, as usual, but I was 
mainly to blame. There's the thing in a nutshell. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
This isn't in the least your old story. 

Theodore. 
Never mind my old story. [Extending a forefinger.} 
You forget the old story, my girl, if you wish our ac- 
quaintance to continue — d'ye hear? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Shaking herself.} You're a nasty savage. 

Theodore. 
As for that interfering cad Lowenstein, it unfortunately 
happens that one of Mrs. Blundell's characteristics is a 
habit of disregarding les convenances — a habit which I 
didn't go the right way to check. It's probable that, 
before she's done, she won't leave herself with as much 
reputation as 'ud cover a sixpence. She's impulsive, 



MID-CHANNEL 135 

reckless, a fool — but she's no worse. [^Eying^ the stump 
of his cigar fiercely. '\ My wife's no worse. So, hands off, 
if you please, in my presence. Whatever reports are cir- 
culated to her discredit, the man who speaks against her 
in my hearing is kicked for his pains ; and the woman 
who does so, if she's under my roof, gets taken by the 
shoulders and shown the mat. {Looking at her."] Com- 
prenez f 

Mrs. Annerly. 
\_Pouting^ I should be a juggins if I didn't. Patfaite- 
ment — in my very best French. 

Theodore. 
\Rising and walking about. '\ That's settled, then. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
\After a pause, rising and depositing her cup upon the 
table on the left — thoughtfully. "l Boy dear 

Theodore. 
\At the back.-\ Hey? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
It was regular cat-and-dog between you two at the 
end, wasn't it? 

Theodore. 
\Breaking out again.'\ It's no concern of yours whether 
it was or was not. I've asked you 

Mrs. Annerly. 
{Crossing to the right, with a shrug.'] Oh ! 

Theodore. 
Yes, it was. {Half-sitting upon the back of the settee on 
the left.] I— I tired of her. 



136 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Philosophicaily.'l Ah, men do tire. 

Theodore. 
And she of me. We'd been married close upon four- 
teen years. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Oh, well, come ; that's a long while. 

Theodore. 
\^As much to himself as to herJ] Our wedding-day's on 
the thirtieth of this month. \_Hiiting the back of the settee 
softly with his fist. 1 We'd reached a time in our lives 
when — when we were in mid-Channel 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Mid-Channel ? 

Theodore. 
\Rising7\ Oh, you don't know anything about that. 

[ There is a fjirther silence. She sits upon the set- 
tee on the right, watching hiin as he moves 
about the room again. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Here ! {Beckoning him with a motion of her head."] 
Here! {He goes to her. She looks up into his face.'] Why 
don't you marry me, Theo ? 

Theodore. 
[Staring at her.] Marry — you ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
You'd find me awfully easy to get on with. 

Theodore. 
{Turning from her, quietly.] Oh ! 



MID-CHANNEL 137 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Wait ; you might listen, anyhow. [^He turns to her,'] I 
am — awfully easy to get on with. And I'd be as strict 
as — as strict as a nun. Honest injun ! I treated Annerly 
pretty badly, but that's ancient history. I was only sev- 
enteen when I married Frank — too inexperienced for 
words. I've learnt a lot since. 

Theodore. 
^Bitterly.'] Ha! 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Now, don't be satirical. \_Inviting him to sit by her 

side.] Theo \_He sits beside her.] I say — bar chaff— 

I wish you would. 

Theodore. 
^Absently.] What? 

Mrs. Annerly. 

Marry me. Really I do. [^ note of wistfulness in her 
voice.] I really do want to re-estabhsh myself. My life, 
these past few years, has been frightfully unsatisfactory. 

Theodore. 
{Touching her dress, sympathetic ally.] Ah ! 

Mrs. Annerly. 
And I'm a lady, remember — giddy as I may have been. 
Put me in any society and I'm presentable, as far as man- 
ners go. I'd soon right myself, with your assistance. 
\Slipping her arm through his.] I suppose, under the 
circumstances, you couldn't divorce her, could you? 

Theodore. 
What d'ye mean? 



138 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Your wife — over that Italian business. 

Theodore. 
[ Jumping up.] Damn ! 

Mrs. Annerly. 

Oh, I beg your pardon ; it slipped out. [^//g walks 
away to the table at the back and begins to mix himself a 
whiskey-and-soda.'] I'm dreadfully grieved ; gospel, I am. 
\_Rising.'] Don't — don't, boy dear. Do leave that stuff 
alone. \_He puts down the decanter and comes to the settee 
on the leftJ] I can't do more than apologize. 

Theodore. 
[Sitting. "l Tsch ! Hold your tongue. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Sitting beside him.'] No, but you could let her go for 
you, though ; that could be fixed up. I'd even consent 
to be dragged into the case myself, if it would help mat- 
ters forward ; and goodness knows I've no ambition to 
appear in the Divorce Court again — I hate the hole. 
[Coaxingly.] You a//// consider it, won't you? 

Theodore. 
Consider what? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Marrying me. Just say you'll consider it and I won't 
tease you any more to-day. You do owe me something, 
you know. 

Theodore. 
Owe you ? 



MID-CHANNEL 139 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Well, you have compromised me by being seen about 
with me at different places lately; now, haven't you? 
[Theodore throws his head back and laughs boisterously. ~\ 
There's nothing to laugh at. Perhaps I haven't a shred 
of character left, in your estimation ! 

Theodore. 
Ho. ho! 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Rising, piqued.'] I presume you think I'm a person 
who'll accept a dinner at a restaurant from any man who 
holds up a finger to me ! 

Theodore. 
Why, my dear girl, you were always bothering me to 
take you to the cook-shops. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Bothering ! [Going to the chair on the right of the fire- 
place and gathering up her scarf.] Oh, you're too rude ! 

Theodore. 
/ was perfectly content with our quiet little meals here 
or in Egerton Crescent. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Yes, and to bore me to tears ! 

Theodore. 
Bore ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[ Winding her scarf round her shoulders.] Bore, bore, 
bore ! 



140 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[Scowling.'\ Oh, I — I bored you, did I ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Talking to me, as you used to, like a sentimental young 
fellow of five-and-twenty ! Ridiculous ! \_Picking up her 
gloves^ I want a taxi-cab. 

Theodore. 
\_Rising.'\ Stop — stop 

Mrs. Annerly. 
I've had quite sufficient of you for to-day. 

Theodore. 
{With a set jaw. '\ I'm glad you've brought matters to 
a head. Ally. I've something to propose to you. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Fulling on a glove. '\ I've no desire to hear it. 

Theodore. 
Something that's been on my mind for — oh, a month 
or more. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
You can keep it to yourself. I'm not accustomed to 
being jeered at. 

Theodore. 
[Slowly walking over to the right ^ I'm sorry if I've 
hurt your feelings 

Mrs. Annerly. 
It's the first time I've ever made advances to a man, 
and I assure you it'll be the last. 



MID-CHANNEL 141 

Theodore. 
Ally 

Mrs. Annerly. 

[Moving toward the double-door. '\ Cole will get me a 
Taxi. 

Theodore. 
[AuthoritativeiyJ] Come here ; come here ; come here. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Halting behind the settee on the left, with a twist of her 
bodyj] I shall not. 

Theodore. 

[Snapping his finger and thumb.'] Ally — [she ap- 
proaches him with assumed reluctance] Ally — [deliber- 
ately] what'll you take.'* 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Elevating her brows.] Take? 

Theodore. 
To put an end to this. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
An end ! 

Theodore. 

To end your boredom — and mine ; terminate our — 
friendship. 

Mrs. Annerly. 

[Uncomfortably.] Oh, you— you needn't cut up as 
rough as all this. 



14a MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
Ah, no, no, no ; I'm not angry. I'm in earnest, 
though. Come! What'll satisfy you? [She curls her 
lip fretfully.'] A man of my years deserves to pay heavily 
at this game. What'll make you easy and comfortable 
for a bit? I'll be liberal with you, my dear, and — [offer- 
ing his hand] shake hands — \_she turns her shoulder to 
hint] shake hands — [she gives him her hand sulkily] and 
I — I'll ask you to forgive me 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[^Withdrawing her hand.] Oh, for goodness' sake, 
don't let's have any more of that. [Contemptuously.] 
You elderlies always wind up in the same way. 

[He seats hijnself at the writing-table and, unlock- 
ing a drawer, produces his check-book. 

Theodore. 
Would a couple of thousand be of any service to you ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Opening her eyes widely.] A couple of ! 

Theodore. 
[Preparing to write.] I mean it. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Breathlessly.] You don't! [He writes.] Why, of 
course it would. [Melting completely^ Oh, but it's too 
much ; it is positively. I couldn t. And I've had such 
a lot out of you already. You are generous. [Behind 
his chair.] Fancy my being huffy with you just now! 
[Bending over him and arresting his pen.] Boy dear 

Theodore. 
Hey? 



MID-CHANNEL UZ 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[/« a wkisper.'\ Make it — three — will you ? \He looks 
at her over his shoulder with a cynical smile. She re- 
inats^ Oh, well ! One isn't young and attractive for- 
ever, you know. 

\He finishes writing the check and, having locked 
up his check-book methodically , rises and comes 
to her. 

Theodore. 
\Giving her the check.~\ There you are. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
{Examining //.] You — you've split the difference ! 
You are kind. I didn't expect it in the least. {Folding 
the check neatly ayid finding a place for it in her bosom.'] 
I am ashamed of myself for hinting so broadly. Thanks, 
a hundred times. {Blinking at him.] Sha'n't I miss you ! 
[Cole enters at the double-door followed by Peter. 

Cole. 
Mr. Mottram. 

Theodore. 
{Greeting Peter at the fireplace as Cole retires.] 
H£llo! -■ 

Peter. 
Hallo! {Bowing to Mrs. Annerly.] How d'ye do? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[ Who has moved over to the right — distantly.] How do 
you do? 

Theodore. 
{To Mrs. Annerly.] By-the-bye, did you say you 
want a taxi-cab ? 



144 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Annerly. 
If I'm not troubling you. 

[Theodore goes out at the double-door, closing it 
upon Peter aw^MRS. Annerly. There is a 
pause. Mrs. Kati'E.K'LY, pulling on her second 
glove, looks out of the window ; Peter whistles 
silently. 

Peter. 
[After a whileJ] Fine afternoon. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Delightful. [After another pause, turning to him.'] Er 
— h'm — how do you think he's looking ? 

Peter. 
Blundell ? Seen him looking better. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[With a sigh.] Ah! [In a mincing voice, approaching 
Peter.] Mr. Mottram, will you excuse me for offering a 
suggestion? 

Peter. 
[Politely.] Fire away. 

Mrs. Annerly. 
[Sweetly.] Why don't you use your endeavors to bring 
Blundell and his wife together again ? 

Peter. 
[Staring at her.] Eh ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
It would be such a good thing, wouldn't it? 

Peter. 
I agree with you ; it would indeed. 



MID-CHANNEL 145 

Mrs. Annerly. 
I've done all / can to persuade him. [Peter's eyes 
open wider and wider. She busies herself daintily with her 
glove. '\ And now, as he and I are breaking off with one 
another 

Peter. 
{^Quickly ^ I beg pardon? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Perhaps ^(7a7/ take on the job — see whatj/^« can do. 

Peter. 
Breaking off ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
{Loftily. '\ Yes ; I can't stand the annoyance any 
longer. 

Peter. 
Annoyance ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
People are so spiteful. It's shocking — the ill-natured 
construction they put upon the most harmless little friendly 
acts ! I admit I'm rather a careless woman — haven't I 
suffered from it ! 

Peter. 
{Delicately r\ Then, do I happen — may I ask — to be 
assistin* at the grand y?«a/^ ? 

Mrs. Annerly. 
Certainly — \with sudden mistrust.'] Don't you try to 
pull my leg, Mr. Mottram, please. 

[She draws her skirt aside and passes him haugh- 



146 MID-CHANNEL 

illy as Theodore returns. Then she goes out, 
followed by Theodore, who closes the door; 
whereupon Peter skips to the piano ^ seats him- 
self at it, and strikes up a lively air. Pres- 
ently Theodore reappears^ shuts the door again 
and resumes mixing his whiskeyand-soda. 

Theodore. 
Ouf! [Peter takes his hands from the keyboard.'\ 
That's over. 

Peter. 
\Innocenily.'\ Over? 

Theodore. 
You've seen the last of that lady, as far as I'm con- 
cerned. \He comes forward, carrying his tumbler, as 
Peter m«.] What d'ye think? \Grinning.'\ She's been 
at me to marry her. 

Peter. 
\Startled.'\ Not really ! 

Theodore. 
To get rid of— present ties, and marry her. 

Peter. 
When — when did she ? 

Theodore. 
Just now — five minutes ago. [Struck by an odd ex- 
pression in Peter's face.l Why, has she been saying 
anything ? 

Peter. 
[Soberly.1 No, no ; not a word. 



MID-CHANNEL 147 

Theodore. 
Poor little devil ! \_He sits upon the settee on the left and 
drinks.'\ Poor — silly — little devil ! 

Peter. 
\Coming to him.'] And so you took the opportunity of 
er T [Theodore nods/] Just so. 

Theodore. 
Ha 1 I expect I shall hear from her from time to time. 

Peter. 
Till the end o' your hfe. [Another nod from Theo- 
dore.] Or hers. And the nearer the end the oftener 
you'll hear. 

Theodore. 
Well, she shall have a trifle whenever she wants it. 
[Looking at Peter.] That's the least we can do, ol' man. 

Peter. 
Decidedly. That's the least we can do. 

Theodore. 
[Emptying his tumbler and jumping up.] Ugh ! [Plac- 
ing the glass upon the table at the end of the settee?] I'll 
burn some pastilles here later on. [Confronting Peter.] 
Yes, you can have your crow ; you're entitled to it. 

Peter. 
Crow? 

Theodore. 
Your crow over me. Everything's turned out as you 
predicted. 

Peter. 
[Demurely.] Did / ? 



148 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
You know you did. "It's when the sun's work- 
ing round to the west" — I often recall your damned 
words 

Peter. 
Ah, that day 

Theodore. 
The day I left Lancaster Gate. " It's when men are 
where we are now " — you remember? — " it's when men 
are where we are now that they're most hable to fall into 
mischief." \_lValking away.'] God! the idiot I've made 
of myself! 

[^He goes to the fireplace and leans upon the 
mantelpiece. 

Peter. 
{^Quietly :\ Theo 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

Peter. 
\Moving to the settee on the left.] Talkin' of Lancaster 
Gate — I've got a bit o' noos for you. {Sitting upon the 
settee:] She's home. {There is no response from THEO- 
DORE.] Zoe I'm speakm' of. She's home. 

Theodore. 
{Leaving the fireplace.] Thank'ee ; I know. 

Peter. 
You know ? 

Theodore. 
I was there on Monday. 



MID-CHANNEL 149 

Peter. 
ISurpn'seii.l There? 

Theodore. 
Passing the house. 

Peter. 
Signs o' life in the winders ? 

Theodore. 
INocfdin^.^ H'm. [^Coming forward.'] You've seen 
her? 

Peter. 
This mornin* . 

Theodore. 
[Simply.'] I was there again this morning. 

Peter. 
Passin' the house ? 

Theodore. 
[Nodding.] H'm. 

Peter. 
You seem to take a great deal of exercise in that 
locality. 

Theodore. 
[Forcing a laugh.] Ha, ha! [Drearily.] Well, one 
had good times there as well as bad ; and when one 
views it all from a distance 

Peter. 

The good times stand out ? 

[ Without replying, Theodore turns from Peter 
and sits upon the settee on the right. 



150 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
\_After a pause.'] How — how did you find her ? 

Peter. 
She ain't up to much. 

Theodore. 

What's .? 

Peter. 
Chill. 

Theodore. 
Doctor? [Peter «^</j.] Rashleigh? 

Peter. 
That's the feller. Oh, it's nothin' serious. 

Theodore. 
Chill? Ha! I'll be bound she caught it through do- 
ing something foolish. \_Fidgeting with his hands.] She 
has nobody to look after her — nobody to look after her. 

Peter. 

Her maid 

Theodore. 
Lena? Is Lena still with her? \^A nod from VwY^K.] 
I'm glad Lena's still with her. Lena's fond of her. 
[Starting up and pacing the room.] Not that Lena can 
control her ; a maid hasn't any authority. {Stopping be- 
fore Peter.] She isn't very poorly ? 

Peter. 
No, no. A little pulled down ; that's all. And as 
charmin* as ever. [Theodore walks away and, with his 
hands in his pockets, gazes out of the window.] She ain't 
sleep! n' ; that's the real bother. 



MID-CHANNEL 151 

Theodore. 



Not sleeping \ 



Peter. 

Walks her room half the night and consooms too many 
cigarettes. 

Theodore. 
Why? 

Peter. 
I can only give you my impression 

Theodore. 
llmpaiienily.'\ Well? 

Peter. 
My dear chap, d'ye think that she don't recollect the 
happy times as well as the bad 'uns? Ain't she viewin* 
it all from a distance, as you are ; [rising] and don't the 
good times stand out in her mind as they do in yours? 
{Approaching Theodore.] Theo 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

Peter. 
I had a long confab with her this mornin'. 

Theodore. 
What about ? 

Peter. 
The possibility of a — a reconciliation. 

[ There is a pause and then Theodore turns to 
Peter. 



152 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[/« a husky voice. ^ Ho ! So that's what you're after, 
is it? 

Peter. 
Yes ; and I'm bent on carryin' it through. 

Theodore. 
You — you meddlesome old buffer ! 

Peter. 
{Chucklingr^ Ha, ha ! 

Theodore. 
How — how did she take it ? 

Peter. 
In a way that convinced me you've only to assure her 
that your old feelin's for her have returned, and in spite 
of everythin' 

Theodore. 
Everything ! Wait till she hears of sweet Alice. 

Peter. 

Wait! 

Theodore. 
\Looking at Peter.] Why, d'ye mean ? 

Peter. 
Oh, yes ; it's got to her. 

Theodore. 
[Z7////J/.] Already? 



MID-CHANNEL 153 

Peter. 
Jim Mallandain traveled with her from Paris on Sun- 
day. 

Theodore. 

mdihe ? 

Peter. 
I suppose he thought it 'ud amuse her. 

Theodore. 
The skunk! 

Peter. 
If it hadn't been Jim, it 'ud have been somebody else. 

Theodore. 
{^Thickly.'] You're right ; somebody had to be first. 

Peter. 
However, I did my best for yer. 

Theodore. 
Denied it ? 

Peter. 
Warmly. I defended you and the young lady with all 
the eloquence I could command. 

Theodore. 
Zoe didn't believe you ? [^ pause.'] She didn't believe 
you ? [Peter shrugs his shoulders.'] Of course she didn't. 
[^Passing Peter and walkittg about the room.] What did 
she say ? Hey ? Oh, I can guess ; you needn't tell me. 
What's everybody saying ? Peter, I'd give half as much 
as I'm worth to wipe the Annerly incident off my slate. 
I would, on the nail. Just fancy ! To reach my age— 



164 MID-CHANNEL 

and to be of decent repute — and then to have your name 
linked with a brainless, mercenary little trull like Alice 
Annerly ! Ha, ha! Glorious fun for 'em in the city, 
and at the club ! You hear it all. Confound you, can't 
you open your mouth ! Ho I Of course Zoe sums it all 
up; she's cute enough when she chooses. [Sitting upon 
the settee on the left and moppitig his face and throat with 
his handkerchief '\ How did it end ? 

Peter. 
End? 

Theodore. 
Your chat with my missus. 

Peter. 
It ended in my urgin* her to consider the matter — think 
it over. [Coming to hi?n.~\ I'm dinin' with her next week. 
[Sitting in the chair at the further end of the settee.'] If 
you'll authorize me to open negotiations with heron your 
behalf 

Theodore. 
I — I approach her ! 

Peter. 
Cert'nly. 

Theodore. 
[Twisting his handkerchief into a rope.] No — no 

Peter. 
Why not ? 

Theodore. 
A couple o' months back I could have done it. Even 
as late as a fortnight ago — before I'd given myself away 



MID-CHANNEL 155 

by showing myself in public with Alice — it might have 
been feasible. {Between his teeth.'] But now — when I — 
when I've lost any remnant of claim I may have had — 
on her respect ! 

Peter. 
[/« his judicial manner.'] My dear chap, here is a 
case 

Theodore. 
Hell with you and your case ! [^um^ing up and walk- 
ing away to the right.] I couldn't screw myself up to it ; 
I — I couldn't humble myself to that extent. [Moving 
about.] Ho ! How she'd grin ! She's got a cruel sense 
o' humor, Peter — or had once. You see, I always posed 
to her as being a strong, rather cold-blooded man 

Peter. 
A favorite pose, that, of husbands. 

Theodore. 
It was more than a pose — I thought I was a strong 
man. And then — to crawl back to her — all over 

mud ! 

[He halts in the middle of the room and, with a 
shaky hand, produces his cigar case from his 
pocket and takes out a cigar. 

Peter. 
I was about to remark, when you chipped in with your 
usual politeness — I was about to remark that this is a case 
where two persons have behaved more or less stoopidly. 

Theodore. 

Two ? 

Peter. 
You more, she less. 



156 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[His brow darkening.'] You — you're referring to ? 

Peter. 
Er— Mrs. Zoe 

Theodore. 
[Cutting his cigar viciously. 1 With — Ferris. 

Peter. 
Yes ; and I think that the friend of both parties — the 
individual on whose shoulders the task of adjustin' mat- 
ters would fall — [rising] I think that that friend might 
manage to impose a condition which 'ud be greatly to 
your advantage. 

Condition ? 



Theodore. 



Peter. 
No imputations to be made on either side. 

Theodore. 
[Broodingly.] No — imputations ? 

Peter. 
Each party acceptin' the statement of the other party, 
and promisin' not to rake up anythin' that's occurred 
durin' the past four months. 

Theodore. 
I — I understand. 

Peter. 
It 'ud help to save your face for the moment, and the 
healin' hand of time might be trusted to do the rest. 



MID-CHANNEL 157 

Theodore. 
\_Quieily.'] Peter 

Peter. 
Hallo! 

Theodore. 
When I was at the house on Monday — my wife's house 
— half-past eleven in the morning 

Peter. 
Well? 

Theodore. 
There was a yellow car at the door. 

Peter. 
Yaller car? 

Theodore. 
I couldn't get near, but — that fellow has a yellow car. 

Peter. 
Has he? 

Theodore. 
[Grimly.'] Why, he's driven you in it. 

Peter. 
[Carelessfy.l I'd forgotten. 

Theodore. 
[Looking at Peter.] He' s still hanging on to her skirts, 
hey ? 

Peter. 
He's an ill-bred, tactless cub. But he's got a nice 
'ead of 'air and smells o' soap ; and that's the sort 
women love to have danglin' about after 'em. 



im MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[^With an effort.'\ There — there's nothing in it, Peter, 
beyond that? 

Peter. 
[ Waving his hand disdainfully .'\ Good God ! 

Theodore. 
Oh, I know there isn't ; I know there isn't. With all 
her faults, I know she's as straight as a die. [Looking at 
Peter again.'\ Did you touch on the subject with her? 
Peter. 
l^Nodding.'X I rubbed it in. I told her her conduct had 
been indiscreet to a degree. I thought it policy to rub 
it in. 

Theodore. 
Did she — offer any explanation ? 

Peter. 
{^Nodding^ Pure thoughtlessness. 

Theodore. 
And you felt that she was — speaking the truth? 

Peter. 
\Testily.'\ My dear Theodore 

Theodore, 
You swear that? {Suddenly, grasping the lapel of 
Peter's coat.'\ Damn it, man, you began talking about 

the thing ! 

[Cole enters at the double-door canying a note in 
the shape of a cocked-hat. 

Theodore. 
[Angrily.'] What d'ye want? 



MID-CHANNEL 159 

Cole. 
I beg your pardon, sir. 

Theodore. 
[Going to himJ] Hey ? 

[//<? snatches the note from the man and, as he 
glances at the writing on it, his jaw drops. 

Cole. 
[/« a low voice.~\ An answer, sir? 

Theodore. 
[Trying to unfold the note.'] Messenger ? 

Cole. 
The lady herself, I think, sir. 

[There is a pause, and then Theodore slowly gets 
the note open and reads it. 

Theodore. 
[T^Cole.] Where ? 

Cole. 
In the smoking-room, sir. 

Theodore. 
Er — wait. 

Cole. 
Yessir. [Cole withdraws. 

Theodore. 

[To Peter, who has wandered away.] Peter 

[Peter comes to him and Theodore hands him 
the note. Peter's eyes bolt as he recognizes 
the handwriting. 



i6# MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
\_Reading the note.'] ' ' Will you see me ? " Short— [^;r- 
amining both sides of the paper and then returning the note 
to Theodore] sweet. 

Theodore. 
\Chewing his unlighted cigar.] This is your doing. 

Peter. 
\_Beaming.'] I flatter myself it must be. [^Laying a 
hand on Theodore's shoulder.] My dear Theo, this puts 
a noo aspect on the affair — clears the air. 

Theodore. 
New aspect ? 

Peter. 
She makes the first advances, dear kind soul as she is. 
[A pause.] Shall I — fetch her in ? 

Theodore, 
Hold hard, hold hard ; don't be in such a devil of a 
hurry. 

\^He leaves Peter and seats himself in a heap in 
the chair on the right of the fireplace. Peter 
moves softly to the double-door. 

Peter. 
\^His hand on the door-handle— to Theodore.] May I ? 
[Theodore raises his head and nods. Peter 
goes out. As the door closes, Theodore gets to 
his feet and flings his cigar into the grate. 
Then, hastily, he proceeds to put the room in 
order, closing the piano and beating out and re- 
arranging the pillows on the settees. Finally, 
he comes upon Mrs. Annerly's empty coffee- 
cup, picks it up, and vanishes with it into the 



MID-CHANNEL 161 

dining-room. After a little while, the double- 
door opens mid Peter returns. He glances 
round the room, looks surprised at not finding 
Theodore and, with a ^notion of the head, in- 
vites ZOE to enter. Presently she appears, beau- 
tifully dressed. She also looks round : and 
ia^sinp Peter, she moves tremblingly to the 
fireplace. He closes the door and joins her. 

Peter. 
\To ZoE.] You're a brick to do this. 

ZOE. 

{Almost inaudibly.'\ Am I ? 

Peter. 
You'll never regret it. 

Zoe. 
{Clutching Peter's am.] He will be— kind to me ? 

Peter. 
As kind as you are to him. 
Zoe. 

\Drawing a deep breath.-] Ah! P^f ^^ "^^«/^,f;tt 
tee on the right and her eyes roam about the room.] What 
a ripping flat ! 

Peter. 
{Disparagingly.] Oh, I dun' no. 

Zoe. 
{With a wry mouth, plaintively.] He ^^5 been doing 
himself jolly well, in all conscience. 

{The dining-room door opens and Theodore ap- 
pears. He shuts the door and edges toward 
Peter who leads him to Zoe. 



162 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 

My dear old pals 

[ZoE gets to her feet and Theodore awJkt/ardly 
holds out his hand to her. 

Theodore. 
How are you, Zoe ? 

ZOE. 

Fairly — thanks 

\She hurriedly produces her handkerchief from a 
gold bag hanging from her wrist and moves 
away to the left. There she sits upon the settee, 
struggling to command herself Peter gives 
Theodore's arm a friendly grip and makes 
for the double-door. As he passes behind the 
settee on which Zoe is seated, he stops to pat 
her shoulder. 

Zoe. 
[/« a whisper, seizing his hand.'] Don't go, Peter; 
don't go. 

\^He releases his hand, gives hers a reassuring 
squeeze, and goes to the door. 

Peter. 

\At the door, to Theodore.] I shall be in the City till 
six. 

\^He departs. After a silence, Theodore ap- 
proaches Zoe. They carefully avoid meeting 
each other' s eyes. 

Theodore. 
It— it's very good of you, Zo, to— to hunt me up. 

Zoe. 
I— I went first to Copthall Court. {Wiping a tear from 
her cheek.] I— I thought I should find you there. 



MID-CHANNEL 163 

Theodore. 
I — I haven't been at all regular at the office lately. \_A 
pause. They look about the room in opposite directions.'] 
Er— Peter tells me he had a little talk with you this 
morning. 

ZOE. 

Y-yes. 

Theodore. 
About our — being reconciled. 

ZOE. 

Yes. 

Theodore. 

W-well ? \_She puts her handkerchief away and takes 
from her bag a torn envelope with some incisures. She 
gives it to him timidly and he extracts from the envelope a 
letter and a key.] The — the damned cruel letter I left be- 
hind me — that evening — with my latch-key. \She inclines 
her head.] May I — destroy it? 

\She nods assent, atid he tears up the envelope and 
letter and crams the pieces into his trouser- 
pocket. 

Theodore. 
\Looking at the key.] The — the key ? 

ZOE. 

It — it's yours again — if you like. 

Theodore. 

You — you're willing ? \_Again she inclines her 

head, and he puts the key into a pocket in his waistcoat 
and seats hitnself humbly in the chair at the further end 
of the settee 7] Thank'ee. {After a pause.] Zo 



164 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Yes? 

Theodore. 
\^Tuming to her but not lifting his eyes.^ Look here. 
I'm not going to — try to deceive you. 1 — I want you to 
understand exactly what you're offering to take back. 

ZOE. 

Exactly ? 

Theodore. 
I gather from Peter that you came over from Paris on 
Sunday in the company of Mr. Jim Mallandain. 

ZOE. 

I picked him up by chance at the Gare du Nord. 

Theodore. 
And Mr. Jim whiled away the journey by — by gossip- 
ing to you about me and — a woman of the name of 
Annerly ? 

Zoe. 
On the boat. 

Theodore. 
Quite so. lA paused] When you mentioned the matter 
to Peter, he produced the whitewash bucket, didn't he ? 

Zoe. 
Slapped it on thick. 

Theodore. 
[^Looking at her from under his broivs.'] But you 

didn't ? [She shakes her head.'] You're right ; Peter's 

a liar. It's a true bill. I wish it wasn't ; but it is. 



3IID-CffANNEL 165 

ZOE. 
\After apause, steadily. 'I Well? 

Theodore. 
{^Looking at her again.'] Are you prepared to forgive 
me tliat too, then ? [She nods, but with compressed lips. 
He bows his head.] Anyhow, I'm easier for making a 
clean breast of it. 

ZOE. 

How — how did you — come to ? 

Theodore. 
Lower myself with this hussy ? [Looking up.] Isn't it 
all of a piece ? Isn't it the natural finish of the mistakes 
of the last year or so — the errors we've committed since 
we began kicking each other's shins? [Quickly.] Oh, 
I'm not reproaching you now for your share o' the trans- 
action. It was my job — the husband's job — to be patient 
with you ; to smooth you down gently, and to wait. But 
instead of doing that, I let my mind dwell on my own 
grievances ; with the result that latterly the one being in 
the world I envied was the fellow who'd kept his liberty, 
or who'd had the pluck to knock off the shackles. [Ris- 
ing and walking about, gathering his thoughts as he pro- 
ceeds.] Well, I'got my freedom at last, didn't I ! And a 
nice mess 1 made of it. I started by taking a furnished 
lodging in St. James's Street— sky-high, quiet, peaceful/ 
Ha ! Hardly a fortnight was out before I had blue-devils 
and was groaning to myself at the very state of things I'd 
been longing for. Why should I be condemned, I said 
to myself— why should I be condemned to an infernal 
dull life while others round me were enjoying themselves 
Uke fighting-cocks ! And just then this flat was offered 
to me as it stands ; and in less than a month after I'd 
slammed the front door at Lancaster Gate I was giving a 



166 MID-CHANNEL 

dinner-party here — a housewarming — \JiaIting at the win- 
dow, his back to Zoe] a dinner-party to four-and-twenty 
people, and not all of 'em men. 

Zoe. 
\In a low voice. '\ I heard of your setting up here while 
I was — in Florence — {clenching her hands\ in Florence. 

Theodore. 
{Resuming his walk."] However, so far it was notliing 
but folly on my part — egregious folly. And so it con- 
tinued till I — till I had the honor of being introduced to 
Mrs, Annerly at a supper at Jack Poncerot's. {Eying 
Zoe askance. '\ I won't give you the details of the pretty 
story ; your imagination' 11 supply those — the heading o' 
the chapters, at any rate. Chapter One, Conceit — I had 
the besotted vanity to fancy she — she Uked me and was 
genuinely sympathetic toward me ; {at the mantelpiece, 
looking down into the grate'] and so on to Chapter the 
Last — the chapter with the inevitable title — Disgust — 
Loathing ! 

Zoe. 

{Thoughtfully.'] You — you're sure you've reached the 
— the final chapter ? 

Theodore. 
{Turning to her.] Heavens, yes! {Shaking himself.] 
It's all over. I've paid her off — to-day, as it happens. 
I've been itching to doit ; and I've done it. {Sitting tipoft 
the settee on the fight.] Another month of her society, and 
I believe I'd have gone to the dogs completely. {His el- 
bows on his knees, holding his head.] Zo 

Zoe. 
Eh? 



MID-CHANNEL 167 

Theodore. 
Peter says you're walking your room half the night and 
smoking your nerves raw. 

ZOE. 

Does he? He needn't have repeated 

Theodore. 
Zo, I've been walking this horrible flat in the same way. 
/ can't get to bed till 1 hear the rattle of the milk-carts. 
And I'm smoking too much — and — not only that 

Zoe. 
[Looking at him for the first lime.'\ Not only whatf 

Theodore. 
Well, a man doesn't smoke till four or five o'clock in 
the morning on cocoa, does he ? 

\Ihere is a moment s silence, and then she rises and 
goes to him. 

Zoe. 

Oh— Theo ! 

Theodore. 
{Looking up at her.^ So your liberty hasn't made you 
over happy, either, has it, old girl? 

Zoe. 
IFaint/y,'] No. 

Theodore. 
Vouve been thinking, too, of the good times we've had 

together, hey ? 

Zoe. 
Y-yes. {lie rises and places his hands upon her shoul- 
ders yearningly as if about to draw her to him. She shrinks 
from him with a startled look. '\ Theo 



168 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[Dropping his hands.'] What ? 

ZOE. 

[Nervously.] There— there' s one thing I — I want to say 
to you — before we — before we go further 

Theodore. 
[Feeling the rebuff I\ H ' m ? 

ZOE. 

As I've told you, I'm willing that you should return to 
Lancaster Gate. You may return as soon as you please ; 
but 

Theodore. 
But? 

ZOE. 

It must be — simply as a companion, Theo ; a friend. 

Theodore. 
[Stiffly:] A friend? 

ZOE. 

[With a slight shrug.] Not that we've been much else 
to each other these last few years — except enemies. 
Still 

Theodore. 
[Frowning.] You wish to make it perfectly clear. 

ZOE. 

Yes. 



MID-CHANNEL 169 

Theodore. 
[After a pause » icily. '\ I beg your pardon. I was for- 
getting myself just now. Thanks for the reminder. 
[Walking away from her.^ Oh, I know you can feel only 
the most utter contempt for me — wholesale contempt. 

ZOE. 

{Entreatingly.'\ Ah, no ; don't take that tone. 

Theodore. 
Stand the naughty boy in the corner ; he's earned any 
amount of humiUation you choose to inflict. 

ZOE. 

You shall never be humiliated by me, Theo. 

Theodore. 
[Throwing himself upon the settee on the left.'] Evi- 
dently ! 

ZOE. 

[Turning away.] Oh, for God's sake, don't let's begin 
fighting again ; [sitting on the settee on the right] don't 
let's do that. 

Theodore. 
Ha, ha ! No, no ; we won't squabble. Right you are ; 
I accept the terms — any terms. [Lying at full length upon 
his back on the settee.] As you say, we've been httle more 
than friends of late years — good friends or bad. [Throw- 
ing one leg over the other.] It's your laying down the law 
so emphatically that riled me. Sorry I growled. [There 
is silence between them. She watches him guiltily. Sud- 
denly he changes the position of his legs.] Zo 

ZOE. 
Yes? 



170 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[Gazing at the ceiling.'] At the same time, I'm blessed 
if 1 wouldn't rather you wanted to tear my eyes out than 
that you should treat me in this lofty, condescending style 
— scratch my face and tear my eyes out. 

ZOE. 

Well, I — I don't, you see. 

Theodore. 
[Smiling unpleasantly.'] Alice Annerly's an extremely 
handsome creature, my dear, whatever else she may be. 

ZOE. 

I'm — I'm sure of it. 

Theodore. 
Her photo's on the top of the piano. 

Zoe. 
[Restraining an impulse to glance over her shoulder.'] 
I — I'm not curious. 

Theodore. 
Ho ! You mayn't be aware of the fact, but Fve paid 
you the compliment of resenting the deep devotion your 
pet poodle — Master Lenny Ferris — has been paying you 
recently. You might do me a similar honor. [Medi- 
tatively.'] Master — blooming — Lenny ! [Again there 

is a pause ; and then, slowly, he turns upon his side so that 
he may face her.] I say, that was a pretty disgraceful 
business — your trapesing about Italy with that fellow. 
[Another pause.] Hey ? 

Zoe. 
[Holding her breath.] It was — unwise of me, I own. 



MID-CHANNEL 171 

Theodore. 
Unwise! Peter and I were discussing it when your 
note was brought in. 

ZOE. 

[Moistening her lips.'] Were you ? 

Theodore. 

[Harshly.'] Yes, we were. [Another pause.] My God, 

I think it's / who ought to dictate what our domestic 

arrangements are to be in the future — not you ! [A pause. 

With a motion of the head, he invites her to come to him.] 

Zoe [A pause.] Don't you hear me ! 

[She hesitates ; then she nerves herself and rises 
and, with a light step, crosses the room. 

Zoe. 
[Resting her arms on the back of the chair at the further 
end of the settee on which he is lying.] Still the same dear 
old bully, I notice. 

Theodore. 
Sit down. 

Zoe. 
Your gentle voice is quite audible where I am. 

Theodore. 

[Putting his feet to the ground.] You sit down a 
mmute. 

Zoe. 

P"h •' [She sits haughtily. 

Theodore. 
Now, you look here, my lady ; I should like an ac- 
count of that Italian affair from the word go. 



m AIID'CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

I'm not in the mood to furnish it. 

Theodore. 
Perhaps not ; but I'm in the mood to receive it. [A 

pause.'] When did he join you? 

ZOE. 

He — he didn't join me ; that's not the way to put it. 

Theodore. 
Put it any way you like. When was it ? 

ZOE. 

At the— end of February, I think. 

Theodore. 
You think ! [^A pause.] What made him go out to 
you? 

Zoe. 
He knew I was awfully in the dumps 

Theodore. 
Did he? How did he know that? 

Zoe. 
He — guessed I must be. 

Theodore. 
Guessed ! 

Zoe. 
Well, I'd seen him before I went away. I was dread- 
fully depressed, Theo — dreadfully desolee. I never thought 
you'd bang out of the house as you did. I never meant, 
for a single moment 



MID-CHANNEL 173 

Theodore. 
Where were you when he turned up ? 

ZOE. 

I — I'd got to Florence. I'd been to Genoa and Pisa — 
I was drifting about 

Theodore. 
Did he dream you were in Florence ? 

ZOE. 

Dream — - ? 

Theodore. 
He must have dreamt it. 

ZOE. 

Oh, I see what you're driving at. He — he'd had a 
post-card from me 

Theodore. 
A post-card ! 

ZOE. 

[Feebly,'] I— I don't mean one — you — you silly! I — 
I sent him a picture from each town — so I did to 
Peter 

Theodore. 

Why don't you admit that you and Ferris were corre- 
sponding ? 

ZOE. 

I — I am admitting it. It's nothing to admit. 

Theodore. 
Isn't it ? [A pause.] Well, he arrives in Florence ? 



174 MID-CHANNEL 





ZOE. 


Don't worry me this afternoon, Theo 




Theodore. 


How long was he with you in Florence? 


I'm seedy; I had 
called in Rashleigh - 


ZOE. 

quite a temperature yesterday. Lena 




Theodore. 


How long was he with you in Florence ? 




ZOE. 


He wasn't "with' 


" me. 




Theodore. 


How long ? 






ZOE. 


A week— eight days 




Theodore. 


Same hotel ? 






ZOE. 


No, no, no ! 






Theodore. 


And afterward — 


_? 



Zoe. 
I wanted to do a little tour of the quiet old places — 
Perugia — Siena 

Theodore. 
So did /le, hey ? 



MID-CHANNEL 175 

ZOE. 

He tacked on. I saw no harm in it at the time. 

Theodore. 
At the time ! 

ZOE. 

Nor do I now. 

Theodore. 
It was coming from Perugia you fell up against Low- 
enstein. 

ZOE. 

If you were a man you'd thrash that beast. 

Theodore. 
Lowenstein had the room at the hotel there — the Bru- 
fani — that Ferris had had. 

Zoe. 
IProtesiingly.'] Ah ! 

Theodore. 
In the same corridor as yours was. 

Zoe. 
It was stupid — stupid — stupid of Lenny to let them 
carry his bag up to the Brufani. It was all done before 
— before it dawned on him 

Theodore. 
Where were you moving on to when Lowenstein met 
youatArezzo? \^A pause.'] Hey? 

Zoe. 
[^Passing her hand across her brow, weakly.] Let me 
off to-day, Theo ; my head's going like a clock. \Get- 



176 MID-CHANNEL 

ting to her feet."] Take it up again another time. [She 
goes to the settee on the right and picks up her bag which 
she has left there. He rises and follows her, so that when 
she turns they come face to face. She steadies herself^ Well, 
you turn it over in your mind about coming back to me. 
I don't want to put pressure on you ; only I — I under- 
stood from Peter you were feeling kindly toward me 
again. 

Theodore. 
[g««>/^.] When did you see Ferris last? 

ZOE. 

Oh, drop Ferris. 

Theodore. 
When? 

ZOE. 

Oh — over two months ago — at the end of the little 
jaunt. 

Theodore. 
Not since ? \She looks at him vacantly and shakes her 
head.'\ That's a lie. He was with you on Monday morn- 
ing at half-past eleven. D'ye deny it? 

Zoe. 
You — you're so jealous, one — one's afraid 

Theodore. 
[ With sudden, fierce earnestness.'] Zoe 

Zoe. 
[Helplessly,'] I'm not going to remain here to be 



MID-CHANNEL 177 

Theodore. 
Give me your word nothing wrong's occurred between 
you and Ferris. [A pause.] I don't ask for your oath ; 
I'll be satisfied with your word. \_A pause. 1^ Give me 
your word. 

[^SAe sits upon the settee, her hands lying in her 
lap. 

ZOE. 

[Staring at him. '\ Theo — I've forgiven you ; forgive w^. 
\_7here is a silence and then, dumbfoundered, he 
moves to the chair at the further end of the set- 
tee on the left and sits there. 

Theodore. 
\After a while.'] Florence ? 

ZOE. 

No. Perugia— Siena [Brokenly.] It was in Flor- 
ence I first lost my senses. I'd been pitying you, hating 
myself for the way I'd served you, and had been trying 
to concoct a letter to you. And then one arrived from 
him, telling me you'd taken this big flat and were having 
a splendid time. It made me furious ; and when he 
came through to me, I was half beside myself. And then 
he planned out the little tour, and I said Yes to it. 
[^Wringing her hands.] Why ! Why did I fall in with 
It ! I shall never know why — except that I was mad — 

blind mad ! [Leaning back, her eyes closed.] Get me 

a drop o' water. 

[He rouses himself and goes to the table on the left 
of the fireplace and half fills a tumbler with 
soda-water. Then he brings her the tumbler 
and holds it out to her. 

Theodore. 
Here 



178 MID-CHANNEL 



ZOE. 



{^Opening her eyes and looking up at him beseechingly.'] 
Be — merciful to me. 

Theodore. 
\Perempiorily.'] Take it. 

ZOE. 

\Barely touching the glass.] Don't— don't be hard on 
me, old man. 

[He thrusts the tumbler into her hand and she 
drinks. 

Theodore. 
[Heavily,] I — I must have some advice about this — 
some advice. 

ZOE. 

Advice ? [He goes to the writing-table, sits there, and 
places the telephone-receiver to his ear.] You — you won't 
do anything to disgrace me publicly, will you, Theo? 
\He taps the arm of the instrument impatiently 7] You won't 
do anything spiteful ? \He rings again.] You and I are 
both sinners, Theo ; we ve both gone a mucker. 

Theodore. 
[Speaking into the telephone^ London Wall, one, three, 
double five, eight. 

ZOE. 

That's Peter. He won't advise you to do anything 
spiteful. [She rises painfully, puts the tumbler on the top 
of the piano, and walks about the room.] What can you 
do? You can do nothing to hurt me ; nor I you. We're 
both sinners. 



MID-CHANNEL 179 

Theodore. 
\^Tnto the telephone.'] Hallo ! . . . Are you Blundell, 
Slade and Mottram ? ... Is that Mr. Ewart? . . . 
Mr. Blundell. . . . Mr. Mottram not back yet, I sup- 
pose? . . . 

ZOE. 

\In a murmur.'] Both — both gone a mucker. 

Theodore. 
[/«/<? the telephone.'] . . . When he comes in, tell 
him I want to see him at once. . . . Cavendish Square 
... at once. . . . \Replacing the receiver.] Good-bye. 

ZOE. 

{On the left.] Peter — Peter won't let you — be too rough 
on me. 

Theodore. 

[Leaning his head on his hands.] Ho, ho ! An eye- 
opener for Peter! But he's been a first-rate prophet all 
the same. [/« a muffled voice.] Yes, Peter's been right 
all along the line, with his precious mid-Channel ! 

Zoe. 
[Looking at him and speaking in loiv, measured tones.] 

Theo [He makes no response.] Theo [Coming 

to him slowly.] I — I was thinking it over — beating it all 
out — driving into the city and back again. Our marriage 
was doomed long, long before we reached mid-Channel. 

Theodore. 
[Absently, not stirring 7] Oh? 

Zoe. 
It was doomed nearly fourteen years ago. 



180 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[Asbefore.-\ Oh? 

ZOE. 

From the very beginning. 

Theodore. 
[Raising- his head.l What d' ye ? 

ZOE. 

It was doomed from the moment we agreed that we'd 
never be encumbered in our career with any — brats of 
children. \He partly turns in his chair, to listen to her.'\ 
I want you to remember that bargain, in judging me ; 
and I want you to tell Peter of it. 

Theodore. 
Yes, it suits you to rake that up now 

ZOE. 

\Pressing her fingers to her temples^ If there had been 
" brats of children" at home, it would have made a dif- 
ferent woman of me, Theo ; such a different woman of 
me— and a different man of you. But, no ; everything 
in the earlier years of our marriage was sacrificed to coin- 
ing money — to shoving our way through the crowd — to 
"getting on " ; everything was sacrificed to that. 

Theodore. 
\Angrily.-\ Oh ! 

ZOE. 

And then, when we had succeeded — when we \izAgot 
on — we had commenced to draw apart from each other ; 
and there was the great, showy, empty house at Lancaster 
Gate for me to fret and pine in. \He waves his arm scorn- 
fully. '\ Oh, yes, we were happy in those climbing days 



MID-CHANNEL 181 

—greedily, feverishly happy ; but we didn't look to the 
time when we should need another interest in life to bind 
us together — the time when we'd got on in years as well 
as in position. [Theodore starts up.'] Ah, Theo, I be- 
lieve we should have crossed that Ridge safely enough 
[laying her hands upon his breast] but for our cursed, 
cursed selfishness ! 

Theodore. 
[Shaking himself free.] Well, there's not the slightest 
use in talking about what might, or might not, have been. 
[Passing her and pacing the room.] One thing is abso- 
lutely certain — it's impossible for us ever to live under 
the same roof again under any conditions. That's out o* 
the question ; I couldn't stoop to that. 

ZOE. 

[Leaning against the chair at the writing-table^ No, 
you draw the hne at stooping to Mrs. Annerly. 

Theodore. 
Oh, don't keep on harping on that string. The cases 
are as far apart as the poles. 

ZOE. 

[Faintly.] Ha, ha ! 

Theodore. 
[Halting in the middle of the room and drumming upon 
his brow with his fingers.] Of course, we can make our 
separation a legal one ; but that wouldn't give us release. 
And as long as we're tied to one another — [abruptly, 
looking at her], Zoe 

ZOE. 

[Meekly.] Eh? 



182 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
If I allowed you to divorce me — made it easy for you 
— would Ferris — would that scoundrel marry you ? 

ZOE. 

[ Turning to hinty blankly.'] M-marry me ? 

Theodore. 

Because — if it *ud save you from going utterly to the 
bad 

ZOE. 

{^Advancing a step or two.] No, no ; I wouldn't — I 
wouldn't marry Lenny. 

Theodore. 
\After a moment's pause, sharply.] You wouldn't ? 

ZOE. 

No — no 

Theodore. 
[^Coming close to her.] Why not? [^She shrugs her 
shoulders confusedly.] Why not ? 

[She wavers, then grasps his arm. Again he 
shakes her off. 

ZoE. 
[Appealing ly.] Oh, Theo, stick to me. Don't throw 
me over. Wait — wait for Peter. Theo, I've never ceased 
to be fond of you 

Theodore. 
Faugh ! 



MID-CHANNEL 183 

ZOE. 

Not at the bottom of my heart. No, nor you of me ; 
there's the tragedy of it. Peter says the same. [Seizing 
his hand.'] Take time ; don't decide to-day 

Theodore. 
[Freeing his hand atid looking at her piercingly^] 
When did you see him last ? 

ZOE. 

H-him? 

Theodore. 
Ferris. 

ZOE. 

This—this morning. 

Theodore. 
This morning ! 

ZOE. 

I— I confess— this morning. I— I sent him away. 

Theodore. 
Sent him — away ? 

ZOE. 

[Nodding.] Yes— yes 

Theodore. 
[Slowly. ] And so you rush off to me— straight from the 
young gentleman 

Zoe. 
W-well? 



184 MID-CHANNEL 

Theodore. 
[Suddenly.'] Why, damn you, you've quarreled! 

ZOE. 

No 

Theodore. 
He's chucked you ! 

ZOE. 

No 

Theodore. 
Had enough of you ! 

Zoe. 
[Her eyes blazing.'] That's not true ! 

Theodore. 
Ho, ho ! You bring me his cast-off trash, do you ! 

Zoe. 
It's a he ! 

Theodore. 
Mr. Lenny Ferris' s leavings! 

Zoe. 
It's a lie ! He'd give his soul to make me his wife. 

Theodore. 
Will he tell »2tf that.? 

Zoe. 

TtWyou! 



MID-CHANNEL 185 

Theodore. 
[^Between his teeth.'\ If he doesn't, I'll break every bone 
in his carcase. 

ZOE. 

[ Throwing her head up defiantly^ Of course he'd tell 
you. 

Theodore. 
{Walking away to the fireplace.'\ He shall have a 
chance of doing it. 

ZOE. 

{Making for the door, wildly. '\ The sooner the better ! 

Theodore. 
{Looking at his watchJ] If Peter were here 

ZOE. 

{Behind the settee on the left, turning to Theodore.] 
Mind! I've your bond! If Lenny promises to marry 
me, you'll let me free myself from you? 

Theodore. 
I've said so. 

ZOE. 

{Missing her bag, which is again lying upon the settee on 

the left, and pointing to it.'] Please 

[He picks up the bag, and is about to take it to her, 
when he remembers that he has the latch-key in 
his pocket. He produces the key and drops it 
into the bag. 

Theodore. 
{As he does so.'] You'll want this for your new hus- 
band. 



186 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

Thank God, I've done with the old one ! \_He tosses the 
bag to her in a fury and she catches ?/.] Ha, ha ! \_At the 
door.^ Ta, ta! [She disappears. 

Theodore. 

[Flourishing his hands.'] Oh ! 

[Going to the piano, he takes the decanter of brandy 
and a glass from the tray and fills the glass to 
the brim. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT 



THE FOURTH ACT 

The scene is a pretty y irregularly-shaped room, simply but 
tastefully furnished. At the backy facing the spec- 
tator y are two double-windows opening to the floor. 
These windows give on to a balcony which appears to 
continue its course outside the adjoining rooms both on 
the right and left. Beyond the balcony there is an 
open space andy in the distance y a view of the upper 
part of the Albert Hall and of other lofty buildings. 
On the left is the fireplace — its grate empty, save for a 
few pots of fiowers — andy nearer the spectator y there is 
a door opening from a corridor. Opposite this door is a 
door of like dimensions y admitting to a bedroom. 

On either side of the fireplace and of the left-hand win- 
dow there is an armchair ; facing the fireplace there is 
a settee ; and at the back of the settee are a small writing- 
table and writing-chair. A leathern tub for waste- 
paper stands beside the writing-table. 

On the right of the room is a round table upon which tea 
is laid for three persons. Two chairs — one on the lefty 
another at the further side — and a settee on the right 
are drawn up close to this table. Elsewhere are a book- 
case, a smoking-cabinety and some odds and ends of fur- 
niture — the whole being characteristic of a room in a 
small fiat occupied by a well-to-do y but not wealthy y 
young man. 

Both the windows are openy and the glare of the afternoon 
sun is on the balcony and the opposite buildings. 
187 



188 MID-CHANNEL 

[Mrs. Pierpoint, Ethel, and Leonard — the 
ladies in their hats and gaily dressed — are 
seated at the round table. 

Leonard. 
\In the chair on the left of the table — handing a dish of 
cakes to Mrs. Pierpoint.] Do try one of these little 
cakes. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[/« the chair at the further side of the table.'\ I couldn't 

Leonard. 
I bought them and carried 'em home myself. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
You really must excuse me. 

Leonard. 
\Pushing the dish toward Ethel, who is on the settee 
facing him.'\ Buck up, Ethel. 

Ethel. 
Good-bye to my dinner, then. \Taking a cake and 
biting it as she speaks."] May I, mother? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
{Cheerfully^ Now, isn't that the modern young lady 
exactly ! May I, mother ! And the cake is half eaten 
before the poor mother can even nod her head. 

Ethel. 
{Laughing.] Ha, ha ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
May I go out for a walk, mother ; and the front door 
bangs on the very words ! May I do this ; may I do 



MID-CHANNEL 189 

that ! And a nice life the mother leads if she dares to 
say No. 

Ethel. 
This sounds suspiciously like a sermon. \_To Leonard.] 
Lenny, sit up straight and be preached to. \_Pushing her 
cup to Mrs. Pierpoint who has the tea-tray before her.\ 
Another cup of tea, your reverence. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel! How— how irreligious ! {^Pouring out tea. '\ Ah, 
but it's true, every syllable of it. And in nothing is this 
spirit of— what shall I describe it as .? 

Ethel. 
Go-as-you-pleasedness. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
{Giving Ethel her tea.'} In nothing is this wilful, 
thoughtless spirit more plamly shown than in the way 
love-affairs are conducted at the present day. 

Ethel. 
[Whistling slyly.'] Phew! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[Ti? Leonard.] More tea, Leonard ? 

Leonard. 

No, thanks. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\_Resignedly.'] I suppose I must call you Leonard now ? 

Ethel. 
[Into her teacup.] What's the matter with " Lenny " ? 



190 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I may be wrong, but I don't think that it was the 
fashion in my youth for a young lady suddenly to appear 
before her mother and to say, without a note of warning, 
" Mr. So-and-so is in the drawing-room and we wish to 
be engaged." Take the case of Ethel's papa — there's a 
case in point 

Leonard. 
I certainly intended to speak to you first, Mrs. Pier- 
point. 

Ethel. 
\To Leonard.] You fibber ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel ! 

Leonard. 
Well, I — what I mean is 

Ethel. 
If you had done so, I'd never have looked at you 
again. Surely, if there is one thing which is a girl's own 
particular business, it is settling preliminaries with her 
best young man. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
My dear ! 

Ethel. 
[Jwnping upJ] Anyhow, mother, if you wanted to play 
the dragon, you shouldn't have been up-stairs, sleeping 
off the effects of an exceedingly heavy lunch, when Lenny 
arrived this afternoon. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Fiddle, heavy lunch ! A morsel of minced 

chicken ! 



MID-CHANNEL 191 

Ethel. 
Ha, ha ! [^Bending over Mrs. Pierpoint.] And you 
don't mind, do you — not actually — [kissing Mrs. Pier- 
point] as long as ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
As long as what ? 

Ethel. 
As long as — Lenny's contented ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[Shaking herself.'] Oh, go away. 

[Laughingly, Ethel wanders about inspecting the 
various objects in the room, 

Leonard. 

[7(7 Mrs. Pierfoint , producing his cigarette-case."] Do 
you object .-* 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Not in the least. Ethel's papa used to indulge, in 
moderation. 

Leonard. 
[ To Ethel, over his shoulder.] Cigarette, Ethel ? 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel, I forbid it. 

Ethel. 
[Puttitig on her gloves.] I would, but it makes me 

swim my. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[7<7 Ethel.] How do ^(9« know? 



193 MID-CHANNEL 

Ethel. 
I've smoked with Zoe Blundell. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
This is news to me. 

Ethel. 
Zoe smokes Uke a chimney. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\_To Leonard.] By-the-bye, she's in London again, 

Leonard. 
{Uncomfortably. '\ Yes — yes. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel called on her this morning at Lancaster Gate. 

Leonard. 

Did she ? 

Ethel. 
\To Leonard.] I told you, Len. 

Leonard. 
Ah, yes. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\To Leonard.] Hdcveyou seen her? I presume not. 

Leonard. 
Er — for a few minutes. I was in the neighborhood on 
— on Monday, and I noticed the blinds were up, and I — 
I just rang the bell to — to inquire. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
{Elevating her eyebrows 7\ She received you ? 



MID-CHANNEL 193 

Leonard. 
She — she happened to be in the hall. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I was going to say — a woman in her peculiar position 
ought hardly 

Leonard. 
No, of course. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Looks ill, I understand ? 

Ethel. 



Frightfully. 
Does she ? 



Leonard. 



Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I am afraid — I am very much afraid — that dear Mrs. 
Blundell was not entirely free from blame in her treat- 
ment of that big, rough husband of hers. 

Ethel, 
\At the left-hand window-l Rubbish, mother ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel, you are too disrespectful. 

Ethel. 
Sorry. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
At the same time, she is an exceedingly attractive per- 
son — a trifle vulgar, poor soul, occasionally 



1D4 MID-CHANNEL 

Ethel. 
IHotly.-] Mother! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[7b Leonard.] But good-natured people frequently 
are vulgar — aren't they ? 

Ethel. 
{Going on to the balcony. '\ Oh ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\To Leonard.] You were quite a friend of hers before 
the sad spht, weren't you — quite a friend ? 

Leonard. 
Yes, I — I always found her a very decent sort. 

Ethel. 
\Her hands ufion the rati of the balustrade, calling.'\ 
Mother, do come and look at the tiny men and women. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 

Men and women ? [Mrs. Pierpoint rises and 

goes to the window, whereupon Lf.ok ABD jum/>s up as if 
relieved by the interruption.'] You're soiUng your gloves, 
Ethel. 

Ethel. 
Look down there. What tots ! 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
{Drawing back from the window.] Oh, my dear, I 
can't 

Ethel. 
Do, mother. 



MID-CHANNEL 195 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
You know I don't care for heights. 

Ethel. 
I'll steady you. [Mrs. Pierpoint timidly ventures o?i 
to the balcony. Ethel takes her ann.'\ There's been a 

concert — or a meeting. \Calling.'\ Lenny 

[Leonard has walked away to the writing-table 
gloomily. He is about to join the ladies on the 
balcony when the door on the left opens and 
Rideout, his servant, appears. 

Leonard. 
\To Rideout.] Eh ? 

\_After glancing discreetly in the direction of the 
ladies on the balcony, Rideovt produces a visit- 
ing-card from behind his back. Leonard ^<7tfj 
to him and takes the card, and looks at it in 
astonishment. 

Rideout. 
[g/<?W/j/] There's some writing on it, sir. 

Leonard. 
I see. [/« a low voice.'\ Where is she ? 

Rideout. 
In my room, sir. I said you were engaged. 

Leonard. 
{Uneasily. "l You didn't tell her who's here. 

Rideout. 
No, sir ; merely some friends to tea. 

Leonard. 
All right. I sha'n't be very long. [RiDEOUT is going.'] 
Tss — ! 



IM MID-CHANNEL 

RiDEOUT. 

[Siapptng.'] Yessir? 

Leonard. 
Keep your door shut. 

RiDEOUT. 

Yessir. 

[RiDEOUT withdraws. Leonard crams the card 

into his waistcoat-pocket and is again about to 
join the ladies when Mrs. Pierpoint comes 
back into the room. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[ To Leonard.] Thank you for showing us your charm- 
ing Uttle nest. Quite— quite delightful ! 

Leonard. 
[Standing by the round table.'] Oh, for bachelor quar- 
ters 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[/« the middle of the room.'] There ! I declare I often 
wonder what there is to tempt a bachelor to marry in 
these days. 

Leonard. 
You're not a bachelor, Mrs. Pierpoint. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
No; that's true. That's perfectly true. But I've a 
distinct remembrance of the rooms Ethel's papa lived in 
when he was a bachelor. [Ethel returns and goes to the 
fireplace.] They were in Keppel Street, and vastly dif- 
ferent from these. \_Turning to Ethel.] Have I ever 
told you that poor papa lived in Keppel Street? 



MID-CHANNEL ld7 

Ethel. 
{Demurely,'] Yes, mother. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\To Ethel.] And now, my dear, as we have to dine 
at naif-past seven — \Jo Leonard] what time does Louise 
begin ? 

Leonard. 
Oh, if we get there at nine 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
So kind of you to take us — and as Ethel must lie down 
on her bed for an hour if we want her to look her best 
—^pointing to the tea-table] may I trouble you— my 

fan? 

[Leonard searches for Mrs. Pierpoint' s fan 
among the tea things. 

Ethel. 
{Kneeling upon the settee on the left, her elbows on the 
back of itt gazing into sp ace,] Mother 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Eh? {Receiving her fan from \.^o^h.^Ty.] Thank you. 

Ethel. 
{Slowly.] Mother— this is going to be an awfully 
happy night. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
I'm sure I hope so, my darling. It won't be my fault 
if it isn't — {tapping Leonard's shoulder with her fan] 
nor Leonard's. 

Ethel. 
Ah, no ; I mean the night of one's life perhaps. 



198 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Oh, I trust we shall have many, many 

Leonard. 
Rather! 

Ethel. 

{^Raising herself and gripping the hack of the settee. '\ 
No, no ; you don't understand, you gabies. In every- 
body's life there's one especial moment 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Moment ? 

Ethel. 
Hour — day — night ; when all the world seems yours — 
as if it had been made for you, and when you can't help 
pitying other people — they seem so ordinary and insig- 
nificant. Well, I believe this is to be my evening. 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
One would imagine / had never given you any pleas- 
ure, to hear you talk. 

Ethel. 
'[Rising.'l I say, mother, don't make me lie down, and 
lose consciousness, when I get home. \Going to Mrs. 
Pierpoint with extended annsJ] Ah, ha ! You 

duck ! 

[/« advancing /^ Mrs. Pierpoint, Ethel knocks 
over the waste-paper tub with her skirt and its 
contents are scattered on the floor. 

Ethel. 

\Going down on her knees and replacing the iiiier,'] 

Sorry. 



MID-CHANNEL 199 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
\To Ethel.] You'll crease your skirt, Ethel. 

Leonard. 
\Going to Ethel.] Never mind that. 

Ethel. 
Oh, but if I do anything clumsy at home ! [Com- 
ing upon some fragments of a photographs^ Oh ! 

[ Trying to fit the pieces together. '\ Zoe ! 

Leonard. 
Yes, I— I 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
[ Who has moved to the fireplace. ] Pray get off the floor , 
child. 

Ethel. 
[Finding more pieces^ Why, you've been tearing up 
Zoe's photos. 

Leonard. 
They're old things. 

Ethel. 
That they're not. This one isn't, at all events. [Ex- 
amining one of the scraps closely 7\ " — Firenze." 

Mrs. Pierpoint. 
Ethel, we must be going. 

Leonard. 
[Almx>st roughly.'] Leave them alone, Ethel. 

[A little startled by his tone, she drops the pieces 
into the basket and he assists her to rise. 



200 MID-CHANNEL 

Mrs. PiERPOiNT. 
{^Opening the door on the ie/t.'] Come along at once, I 
insist. 

[Mrs. Pierpoint goes out. Ethel isfoUowmg 
her mother when she turns to Leonard who is 
behind her. 

Ethel. 
[To Leonard, with a smile.'] Sorry I contradicted 
you. 

[They kiss hurriedly and Ethel runs after her 
mother. Leonard follows and closes the door. 
After a little while, the door is reopened, and 
Rideout enters with ZOE. ZOE is dressed as 
when last seen. 

Rideout. 
\To Zoe, as she passes him.l Mr. Ferris has gone to 
the lift, ma'am. He won't be a minute. 

Zoe. 
[Going to the left-hand window, languidly.] All right. 

Rideout. 
[At the round table, putting the tea-things together upon 
the tray.] Shall I make you some tea, ma'am? 

Zoe. 
[Looking out of the window, speaking in a dull voice ^ 
No ; I've had tea, in a tea-shop. [Turning^ Ride- 
out 

Rideout. 
Yes, ma'am? 

Zoe. 
I should like to tidy myself, if I may ; I've been walk- 
ing about. 



MID-CHANNEL 201 

RiDEOUT. 

{^Goifig to the door on the right and opening zA] Cert' nly, 
ma'am. \As ZoE approaches. '\ The hot water flows cold 
for a few seconds, ma'am. 

ZOE. 

Is there any scent ? 

RiDEOUT. 

There's some eau-de-cologne on the dressing-table, 
ma'am. 

\She disappears and Rideout closes the door and 
continues his preparations for removing the tea- 
things. Leonard returns. 

RiDEOUT. 

^Answering a look of inquiry from LEONARD.] Mrs. 
Blundell's tidying herself, sir. 

Leonard. 

Oh, yes. \Moving about the room, irritably. '\ Won't she 
have some tea ? 

RiDEOUT. 

I did ask her, sir. She's had it. 

Leonard. 
{^Halting.'] Did Mrs. Blundell— say anything, Rideout? 

Rideout. 
{Folding the table-cloth.'] Only that she wanted to see 
you just for ten minutes, sir, and that she thought she'd 
wait. And then she wrote on her card and told me to 
slip it into your hand if I got the opportunity. 

Leonard. 
{Resuming his walk."] Yes, yes. 



208 MID-CHANNEL 

RiDEOUT. 

{After a pause.'] What time' 11 you dress, sir ? 

Leonard. 
Quarter to seven. I have to dine at half-past. 

RiDEOUT. 

Which suit'll you wear, sir? 

Leonard. 
[Considering.'] Er — pink lining. 

RiDEOUT. 

Theatre, sir? 

Leonard. 
Opera. Two pairs o' gloves. [Rideout goes toward 
the door on the left, carrying the tea-tray 7\ Tss ! 

RiDEOUT. 

Yessir ? 

Leonard. 
There's no necessity to put out my clothes yet a while. 

Rideout. 
{Placing the tray upon a piece of furniture so that he 
can open the door.] No, sir. 

Leonard. 
I'll ring when you can come through. 

Rideout. 
{Opening the door.] Yessir. 

Leonard. 
And I'm not at home to anybody else. 



MID-CHANNEL 203 

RiDEOUT. 

[Taking up the tray.'\ No, sir. \As the tnan is leaving 
the room, Leonard comes to the door to close it.'\ Thank 
you very much, sir. 

[RiDEOUT goes out and Leonard shuts the door. 
As he turns from the door, his eyes fall upon 
the waste-paper tub. He snatches it up angrily. 

Leonard. 
[Reopening the door and calling.~\ Rideout 

RiDEOUT. 

[Out of sight. 1 Yessir? 

[RiDEOUT presents himself at the door without 
the tray. 

Leonard. 
[Shaking up the contents of the tub and then giving it to 
Rideout.] Burn this waste-paper. 

Rideout. 
Yessir. 

[Rideout closes the door and Leonard is again 
walking about the room when Zoe, carrying 
her hat, gloves, and bag, appears on the bal- 
cony outside the right-hand window. She en- 
ters and they look at one another for a moment 
without speaking. 





Leonard. 


Hallo, Zo! 






Zoe. 


Hallo, Len! 






Leonard. 


This is a. surprise. 





204 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 
\Putting her hat, gloves^ and bag upon the round table 
— nervously. '\ Is it ? 

Leonard. 
I thought you'd dropped my acquaintance for good 
and all. 

ZOE. 

N — no, Len. Why should you think that ? 

Leonard. 
Ha ! Well, I bear the marks of the point of your shoe 
somewhere about me. 

ZOE. 

Oh, you — you mustn't take me too seriously when 
I'm in one of my vile tempers. \A pause.'] I — I'm not — 
keeping you ? 

Leonard. 
No, no. 

ZOE. 

ITurm'ng the chair on the left of the rotmd table so that 
it faces the writing-table.'] May I sit down? 

Leonard. 
Do. 

ZOE. 

I was here three-quarters of an hour ago, but the porter 
said you were out ; so I went and got some tea. {Sitting."] 
You've been entertaining, according to Rideout. 

Leonard. 
[Turning the chair at the writing-table and sitting facing 
her.] A couple o' people turned up — old friends 



MID-CHANNEL 205 

ZOE. 

You are a gay dog. [^Suddenly, staring at the writing- 
iabie.'] Why — where — where am I? 

Leonard. 
You? 

ZOE. 

You always have a photograph of me, standing on 
your writing-table. 

Leonard. 
O— oh, it's 

ZOE. 

\_Remembering.'] And there isn't one now — {^glancing 
at the door on the right'] in your ! 

Leonard. 
The frames had got beastly shabby. Rideout's taken 
'em to be done up. 

Zoe. 
{FlutteringlyJ] Honor? [A pause. "] Honor? 

Leonard. 
If — if I say so 

Zoe. 
I beg your pardon. No, you wouldn't out my photos 
because of a — because of a httle tiff, would you ? 

Leonard. 
L— hkely ! 



206 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE, 

[^Rising and going to him.'\ I'm sure you wouldn't, 
dear boy ; I'm sure you wouldn't. \^Again there is a 
pause, during which she passes her hand over his shoulder 
caressingly. '\ Len 

Leonard. 
Eh? 

ZOE. 

{Standing behind him.'] After that — stupid fall-out of 
ours this morning — what d'ye think I did? 

Leonard. 
Did? 

ZOE. 

Ha, ha ! I — I took it into my head to — to pay Theo- 
dore a visit. 

Leonard. 
Pay him a visit ! 

ZOE. 

It — it was one of my silly impulses — I was so upset at 
having offended you 

Leonard. 
Did you see him ? 

ZOE. 

Y— yes. 

Leonard. 
And what had ke to say for himself? 

Zoe. 
Oh, I — I made such a mash of it, Len. 



MID-CHANNEL 207 

Leonard. 
Mash ? 

ZOE. 

Yes, I — I let him worm it out of me. 

Leonard. 
Worm it out of you ? 

ZOE. 

Worm it — all out 

Leonard. 
Worm what out of you ? 

ZOE. 

[Faintly.'] P-Perugia 

[ There is a silence, and then LEONARD rises with 
an angry look. 

ZOE. 

\Holding the lapels of his coat.'] Don't be savage with 
me, Len. It wasn't altogether my fault. He ^a^ heard 
ofit from Claud Lowenstein. And it's of no consequence; 
none whatever. It's just as you said this morning — he is 
ready to make matters smooth for us. 

Leonard. 

[Blanhly.] Smooth — for us ! 

Zoe. 
Yes, to let me divorce him. He's promised — he's 
promised to do so, if you'll— only 

Leonard. 
[His jaw dropping.] If / ? 



208 MID-CHANNEL 

ZOE. 

If you'll give him your word that you'll do the right 
thing by me. 

Leonard. 
The right thing ! 

ZOE. 

Marry me. \A pause.'] I— I suppose he — I suppose 
he'll demand to see you. Or perhaps he'll make Peter 
Mottram a go-between. 

l^Again there is a silefice, and then he walks away 
from her. She follows him with her eyes. 

Leonard. 
\Thickly^ But you— you wished me good-bye this 
morning — finished with me. 

ZOE. 

\Clenching her hands.] I know— I know! {(doming to 
him.] But he — he insulted me, Len — stung me. He flung 
it in my face that you — that you'd chucked me ; that I 
was your cast-off, your leavings. I couldn't bear it from 
him ; and I — I told him that you were all eagerness to 
make me your wife. \A pause.] Well ! And so you 
were — this morning ! 

[i% sits in the chair on the left of the round table, 
his elbows on his knees, holding his head. 



Leonard. 

ZOE. 



Zoe 

W-what ? 

Leonard. 
These people I've had to tea this afternoon — ladies — 
two ladies 



MID-CHANNEL 209 

ZOE. 
Yes? 

Leonard. 
Mrs. Pierpoint was one of them — and — and 

ZOE. 

Mrs. Pierpoint ? 

Leonard. 

{Raising his head and looking at her,'] The other was 
—Ethel. 

ZOE. 

Eth-el ! 

Leonard. 
[/« a low voice. "] You — you made me do it. 

Zoe. 

[Dazed.'] I— I made you ! [^Drawing a deep 

breath.'] Oh-h-h! [She turns from him slowly, and seats 
herself in the chair at the writing-table.] I — I'd forgotten 
Ethel. 

Leonard, 
Yes, you persuaded me to do it. [A pause.] Zo, you 
egged me on to do it. 

ZOE. 

[Quietly.] You — you didn't lose much time, did you? 

Leonard. 
I — I was furious when I left you — furious. 

Zoe. 
[With an attempt at a smile.] Why, you — you must 
have bolted straight off to her. 



210 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
I — I went to the club and had some food ; and then I 
came back here and changed — and 

ZOE. 

Got rid of those photos ! 

Leonard. 
I was furious — furious. 

ZOE. 

And then you — you bustled off to Sloane Street ! [^He 
rises and paces the room. After a while she pulls herself 
together. '\ Oh, well, it — it can't be helped, old boy. 

Leonard. 
{Agitatedly^ It must be helped ; it must be helped. I 
must get out of it ; I must get out of it. Somehow or 
other, I must get out of it. 

ZOE. 

Get out of it ? 

Leonard. 
The— the Pierpoints ! 

ZOE. 

Oh, don't talk such utter rubbish ; I'd kill myself 
sooner. {He throws himself into the chair on the right of 
the left-hand window.'\ No, I'm a rotter, Len, but I'm 
not as low as that. Oh, no, I'm not as low as all that. 
[She rises and goes slowly to the round table and, in a list- 
less way, pulls the pins out of her hat.'] I — I'll be toddhng 
home now. [Tracing a pattern on the crown of her hat 

with the hat-pins.] Home ! {Knitting her drows.] 

I shall clear out of that — big — flashy — empty ! 

{Putting on her hat.] Ha, ha ! I have made a mash of 



MID-CHANNEL 211 

it, haven't I ? My father always said I was a heedless, 
irresponsible little puss. \^lVith a puzzled look, her arms 
hanging at her side. '\ There was a lot o' good in me, too 

— any amount o' good ! 

\She is drawing on a glove when she turns her 

head in the direction of the door on the left. 

At the same moment, Leonard, also looking at 

the door, gets to his feet. 

ZOE. 

{Listening.'\ What's that, dear? 

[//^ tiptoes to the door, opens it an inch or two, 
and puts his ear to the opening. 

Leonard. 
[ Carefully closing the door and turning to her.'\ Blundell. 

ZOE. 

{Under her breath.'\ Oh ! 

Leonard. 

[/« a whisper."] Don't worry. I've told Rideout 

[ There is a pause. They stand looking at each other in 
silence, waiting. Suddenly Leonard returns to the door 
and, without opening it, listens again.] Curse the brute, 
he won't go ! 

\_He faces her irresolutely and, in a panic, she 
picks up her bag and her other glove and runs 
out at the door on the right. Leonard is in 
the middle of the room when the door on the left 
is throivn open and Theodore and Peter 
enter followed by Rideout. Theodore and 
Peter have their hats on. 

Rideout. 
[Ti? Leonard.] I — I beg your pardon, sir 



212 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
ITo RiDEOUT.] All right. 

Theodore. 
[7b Peter, zvi^A a hoarse laugh.'\ You give the man 
half a sovereign, Peter; that'll soothe his feelings. 

Peter. 

[To Theodore, sharply. '\ Sssh, sssh ! Theo ! 

[RiDEOUT withdraws. 

Theodore. 
[Advancing to Leonard.] Ho ! Not at home, hey ? 

Leonard. 
[Facing him.'] No, I'm not ; not io you, 

Peter. 
You be quiet, Ferris. 

Leonard. 
[To Theodore.] What the devil do you mean by 
forcing your way into my place ? 

Theodore. 

[Raising a walking-cane which he carries.'] You ! 

[Peter quickly puts hijnself between the two men 
as Leonard seizes the chair on the left of the 
round table. 

Peter. 
[To Theodore, endeavoring to get the walking-cane 
from him.'] Give me that. [ To Leonard.] You keep a 
civil tongue in your head. [Tu Theodore.] Give it me. 
[Holding the cane.] You know what you promised. Give 
it up. [Theodore resigns the cane to Peter and walks 
away to the fireplace where he stands with his back to the 
others. Peter lays the cane upon the writing-table and 



MID-CHANNEL 213 

then turns to Leonard.] You ought to be ashamed o' 
yourself. \Lowering his voice^ You see the man's 
laborin' under great excitement. 

Leonard. 
\SuUenly^ I dare say a good many people in London 
are laboring under excitement. That's no reason why 
they should have the run of my flat. 

Peter. 
{CooUy.l Will you oblige me by sittin' down and 
Ustenin' to me for a moment ? 

Leonard. 
Any man who treats me courteously'!! be treated cour- 
teously in return. {Sitting in the chair on the left of the 
round table.l I can do with you, Peter. 

Peter. 
Can you ? Then you'll be so kind as to drop ad- 
dressin' me by my Cliristian-name. [Sitting in the chair 
at the writing-table.'] Ferris 

Leonard. 
ICurling his lip.] Yes, Mister Mottram? 

Peter. 
Mrs. Blundell called upon her husband to-day— this 
afternoon, about three o'clock 

Leonard. 
[ With an assumption of ease.] Oh ? Did she ? 

Peter. 
And made a communication to him — a communication 
of a very painful, very shockin' character. [A pause. "^ I 
presoom you don't require me — or Blundell — to enter mto 
particklers ? 



214 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
\Ih a low voice.'\ Oh, for heaven's sake, no. 

Peter. 
We may take it, without goin' further, that what Mrs. 
Blundell has stated is absolutely the truth ? 

Leonard. 
Absolutely. \A pause. Theodore moves from the 
fireplace to the left-hand window and stands there staring 
at the prospect.~\ One thing, though, she mayn't have 
stated as clearly as she might 

Peter. 
What's that ? 

Leonard. 
That she — that she's an injured woman — badly dealt 
with by her husband, and worse by your humble serv- 
ant ; and 

Peter. 
And ? 

Leonard. 
And that both Blundell and I dam well deserve to be 
hanged. [Theodore turns to Leonard fiercely. 

Peter. 
[ 7J? Theodore.] Well! Have you any objection to 
that? 

[Theodore draws himself up, as if to retort : then 
his body relaxes and he drops into the chair on 
the left of the window. 

Peter. 
\To Leonard.] Now, then ! Attend to me. 



SIID'CHANNEL 215 

Leonard. 

Yes? 

Peter. 
Obviously it's impossible, after what's transpired, that 
Mr. and Mrs. Blundell should ever live together again. 

Leonard. 
[Siighily surprised.'] She didn't ? 

Peter. 
I believe there was an idea that her husband should go 
back to Lancaster Gate. [^IVith a wave of the hand.] 
But we needn't discuss that. We'd better come at once 
to the object of this meedn'. 

Leonard. 

Object ? 

Peter. 
The best method of providin' for the safety — and hap- 
piness, we hope — of the unfortunate lady who's gone and 
made a bit of a munge of her affairs. 

Leonard. 
{Steadily.] Yes? 

Peter. 
{Deliberately.] Ferris, Mrs. Blundell has given her 
husband to understand that, if existin' obstacles were re- 
moved — if she were a free woman, in point o' fact — you'd 
be willin' to marry her. 

Leonard. 
She's correct. 

Peter. 
That you're keen on it. 



318 MID-CHANNEL 

Leonard. 
[W^/// a nod.'\ Keen on it. 

Peter. 
Good. {Dropping his voice.'] We're all tiled here. 
Are you prepared to give Blundell your word of — of ? 

Leonard. 
Honor? Can't you say it? \^Hoily.'] D'ye think that 
because a fellow's done a scoundrelly act once in his 
life ! 

Peter. 
That'll do — your word of honor. That bein' so, Blun- 
dell undertakes, on his part, not to oppose Mrs. Blun- 
dell's action for divorce. On the contrary [Turn- 
ing to Theodore.] Theo ? 

Theodore. 
H'm? 

Peter. 
Your word of honor ? 

Theodore. 
[/« a muffled voice. ] M y — word of honor. 

Peter. 
[To Theodore and Leonard, shortly.'] Thank' ee. 

And both of you empower me to — to go to Mrs. Zoe ? 

\A pause. Peter turns to Theodore.] Eh ? 

Theodore. 
Yes. 

Peter. 

[To Leonard.] And you? [Leonard is silent.] 
What's the matter ? 



MID-CHANNEL 217 

Leonard. 
\After a further pau^e, slowly. '\ Look here. I don't 
want either of you two men to suspect me of — of playing 
double 

Peter. 
Playing double ! 

Leonard. 
I tell you honestly — Mrs. Blundell — Mrs. Blundell de- 
clines 

Peter. 
Declines ? 

Leonard. 
Yes ; she — she refuses [Theodore rises, 

Peter. 
\Aho rising— to Theodore.] Sssh ! You keep out of 
it. \^To Leonard.] Ah, but you haven't seen Mrs. Blun- 
dell since ? 

Theodore. 
\To Peter, prompting him.'\ Since she left me to- 
day 

Peter. 

[To Leonard.] Since she left her husband this after- 
noon — [a pause'] have you ? 

Leonard. 
Y-yes ; I have. 

Theodore. 
[72? Peter.] Where.? 



218 MID-CHANNEL 

Peter. 
[ To Leonard.] Where ? [ There is a further silence. 

Theodore. 
{Under his breath.'] What's this game, Peter? 
{Loudiy.'] What's this game ? 

Peter. 

{Restraining him.'] Don't you interfere. [To Leon- 
ard.] Ferris 

Leonard. 

[Rising.] Mottram — Mrs. Blundell called on me — 
about a quarter of an hour ago. We — we were talking 
the matter over in this room when we heard Blundell 
kicking up a riot in the passage. [Glancing at the door on 
the right.] She — she's here. [There is a movement front 

Theodore.] Mottram, I depend on you 

[Peter looks at Theodore who, in obedience to 
the look, goes back to the fireplace. Leonard 
moves to the door on the right and then turns. 

Leonard. 

[Speaking across the room to Theodore.] Blundell, 
I — I've given you my word of honor — and — and I abide 
by Mrs. Blundell's decision. [To Peter, pointing to 

Theodore.] Mottram, I— I depend on you [He 

opens the door and calls softly^ Mrs. Blundell 

[There is no response.] Mrs. Blundell 

Theodore. 
[Looking down into the grate.] Call her Zoe. [Laugh- 
ine[ again hoarsely.] Why the devil don't you call her 
Zoe? 



3nD-CHANNEL 219 

Leonard. 

{Callvig.'] Zoe 

\_SiiiI obtainmg no reply, he goes into the next 
room. Theodore comes to Peter. 

Theodore. 
[ To Peter.] Some game up, hey ? 

Peter. 
Sssh, sssh ! 

Theodore. 
What is it ? What trick is she up to now, hey ? 

[Leonard reappears. 

Leonard. 

\_Standing in the doorway, bewildered^ I — I can't make 
it out. 

Peter. 
What ? 

Leonard. 
She — she's not there. 

Theodore. 
Ha! Hooked it? 

Leonard. 
{Looking toward the balco7iy.'\ She must have gone 
along the balcony without our noticing her, and through 
the kitchen. {Looking at Peter.] She must have done 
so. 

Peter. 
Why? 



220 MID-CHA NNEL 

Leonard, 

You know there's no other door 

\^He crosses to the door on the left. As he gets to 
it, it opens and Rideout presejtts himself. 

RiDEOUT. 

\In an odd voice. '\ Sir 

Leonard. 

\To Rideout.] Has anybody passed through your 
kitchen ? 

Rideout. 
N-no, sir. 

Leonard. 
\After a pause, sharply.'] What d'ye want ? 

Rideout. 
There — there's been an accident, sir. 

Leonard. 
Accident ? 

\^At this fiioment Theodore and Peter turn 

their heads toward the balcony as if they are 
lisie?ti)ijr to some sounds reaching thein from a 
distance. Giving Leonard a frightened look, 
Rideout withdraws quickly. Leonard turns 
to Theodore a7id Peter in tiine to see them 
hurrying on to the balcony through the left- 
hand window. He follows them as far as the 
window and recoils before them as they come 
back into the room after looking over the balus- 
trade. 

Theodore. 
[^Staggering to the door on the left.'] Oh, my God ; oh, 
my God ; oh, my God ! \^He disappears. 



i 



MID-CHANNEL 221 

Leonard. 
[ To Peter, shaking a trembling hand at him ] An ac- 
cident ! It's an accident ! [Coming to Peter, appeal- 
ingly.'] An accident ! 

Peter. 

Yes — an accident [Gripping Leonard's arm.] 

She told me once it would be in the winter time ! 

\_They go out together. 



THE END 



NOV 26 ISJP 



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